


rich boy, poor boy

by project_ecto



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Development, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Various characters make an appearance here, no one plays volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 107,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime never asked for much. Coming from a humble background, all he wanted was to be able to pay his school fees while making a few quick bucks with the various odd jobs he can fit into his already pitiable university life.So he thinks it’s his grand misfortune when he gets more than what he can handle – Oikawa Tooru, the richest and most eligible bachelor in the school. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Oikawa didn’t have such an awful personality – and if they weren’t worlds apart.But life has a different idea, and the world has a way of bringing together two starkly different souls.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 221
Kudos: 844





	1. lexus vs. honda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fic to commemorate iwa’s birthday!! Happy birthday you beautiful boy.
> 
> I’m also sobbing because I’m finally writing for this ship again (it has been what, a year since I wrote, not counting twitter). This idea has been sitting with me for ages and I really needed to get it out here. So to everyone who’s in need of more IwaOi apart from the recent Haikyuu chapters, I offer you a breather from canon-verse: a non-volleyball, college AU where pompous Oikawa falls for our best boi Iwaizumi. Please enjoy.

In normal circumstances, Iwaizumi would never find himself in this part of Tokyo – Azabu – where the streets are lined with upscale European-style houses, lush gardens and the occasional Porsche that parks smugly outside their daunting gates.

He cannot feel more out of place in this neighbourhood, but a job’s a job. And this time, on a chilly night in October, he’s out on a delivery run for a fairly young magazine publisher that’s starting to reach out to a new demographic – women with too much time on their hands and too much money than they know what to do with. Yay consumerism.

Strictly speaking, he’s not supposed to be slipping newsletters into these rich people’s intricately designed letterboxes (it’s a _letterbox_ – damn these rich-ass people) because that’d be moonlighting, but he’s got loans to settle, rent to pay and money to send back to his parents back in Miyagi. So he navigates through the pristine roads on his old but trusty Honda Tact Basic scooter, exhaling sharply when the last piece of paper finally disappears through the letterbox.

Fishing his gloves out of his jacket pocket, Iwaizumi heads back to his scooter and checks the time. Almost midnight – such a menial job turned out to be more time-consuming than he thought. He’s looking forward to some hot soup (he hopes Matsukawa or Hanamaki actually left some for him this time) and his warm bed but the approaching sound of an engine cuts through his thoughts intrusively. At this time of the night, he wouldn’t be expecting the noisy and distinct rumble of a high-powered engine.

A silver Lexus speeds by him in a flurry and the windows must have been rolled down, because he hears trailing laughter, loud and jarring in the quiet night. Iwaizumi shakes his head at the inconsiderate behaviour but otherwise opens his trunk to retrieve his helmet. He’s learnt from a young age that it’s best to mind your own business most times.

The car screeches to a stop two houses down and Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker up when he sees the passenger door open. Someone tumbles out unceremoniously and with raucous laughter, another two stagger out as well. Even in the dim streetlights, Iwaizumi can tell they look young. There’s no doubt that this was just a bunch of drunken rich kids out on their rambunctious escapades. One of them even has the audacity (or stupidity?) to don the Hosei University jacket and Iwaizumi cringes at the fact that they’re in the same school as him.

He and another friend start taunting the one who fell out from the passenger seat – a brown-haired boy, Iwaizumi notices – jostling him towards the house in front of them and egging him on to do something that Iwaizumi can’t quite catch. But it’s clear that the poor chap is too wasted to hear them properly, let alone do as they say. Iwaizumi feels a little sorry for him, who already looks like he has trouble standing on his own two feet.

But he ignores the rowdy bunch. If the police doesn’t deal with them for being a public nuisance, someone in this neighbourhood will. Swinging a leg over his scooter, Iwaizumi pulls out his phone to find the way back home.

“Oi!” an irate voice pierces the air and Iwaizumi inadvertently looks up to see a middle-aged man stepping out onto his porch, walking cane in his hand. “What the hell are you doing on my porch?! Get out!”

Iwaizumi hears an “oh shit”, and witnesses the two students throwing their friend off on the porch they were about to trespass. Before the man could even reach his gate, they have hopped back into the car and driven off, howling with laughter all the way and leaving the poor chap slumping off the gate with too much alcohol in his system to remain conscious.

“Hey!!” the man shouts after the disappearing car, waving his cane angrily. “Take this idiot with you!”

Obviously they can no longer hear him, which means there’s probably a Hosei University student completely knocked out in front of some stranger’s house.

“Damn kids,” the man mutters tetchily. He snaps his head up abruptly, darts his eyes around and finds a target in an innocent delivery boy who simply happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“YOU!” he shouts, startling Iwaizumi, and points his cane threateningly at him. “Take this boy off my property!”

“Uhh, I’m sorry sir,” Iwaizumi manages to say from two houses down. “I don’t know him.”

“I don’t care!” he argues, marching out of his gate to approach Iwaizumi menacingly. “You saw what happened, it’s because of hooligans like you that I have to deal with this nonsense! And I do not have time for this!”

“With all due respect,” Iwaizumi answers awkwardly, dismounting his scooter to try to defend himself in case the fuming resident decides to use his cane as a weapon. “I’m not with them. I don’t think this is my responsibility.”

“So it’s mine?” he barks.

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Then take him away!” he warns. "Or I _will_ call the police.”

Iwaizumi seriously contemplates on letting him do so, since he can leave while the police makes their way here. It’s not like the drunk kid will be sober enough to walk anytime soon. But before he can turn away from all this and potentially avoid a troublesome night, said drunkard makes a small sound of discomfort.

“S’not funny anymore…” he mumbles unexpectedly, brows furrowing in distress. He groans and tries to sit up, but it only makes his foot slide, back rattling against the metal gate instead. Iwaizumi regards him pitifully.

Glancing back up at the livid resident, who’s already clutching his phone intimidatingly, Iwaizumi doesn’t bother holding back a loud sigh.

“Fine, I’ll take him,” he accedes, bending down to sling one arm over his shoulders and heaving the boy up. It results in another queasy groan and Iwaizumi hopes to god that he doesn’t get puked on as he supports the boy’s weight by circling an arm around his waist.

“Good,” the man says, simmering down. “And stop creating such a ruckus in the middle of the night!”

Iwaizumi thinks he’s the one making a ruckus, with his angry shouting and all.

As he plods back to his scooter, drunk guy in stow, Iwaizumi tells himself that he gets to rake in good karma points by doing this. Besides, the people this person was with are from Hosei too—this guy must be as well. So it’s like he’s helping out his fellow schoolmate, right?

Ugh, who is he kidding.

It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

Plain, dull, cream-coloured walls…a slow-moving ceiling fan…a bed that’s harder than he remembers…Oikawa wakes up with a start when he realizes that he is not in his room, a movement he regrets dearly because his head starts to pound and he has to fight down the urge to throw up.

Oikawa Tooru, a first-year in university, son of one of the richest business moguls in Tokyo and who’s made some questionable choices last night, has found himself in stranger situations. But waking up in an unknown room with a splitting headache and a twinge of guilt stirring in his gut is nonetheless a little worrisome. At least he’s got his clothes on, albeit lacking his Ralph Lauren jacket which he finds neatly folded on the nightstand. There’s a glass of water accompanying it, and Oikawa downs it in grateful gulps.

Quickly, he slings his jacket over the crook of his arm and takes his leave. But wrenching open the door gives him full view of the kitchen, which is only diagonally across the room he was in. The sudden sound catches the attention of the person seated at the kitchen island, whose mug stops halfway from his lips.

Oikawa blinks in surprise, meeting a pair of green eyes that stare back at him with indifference.

“Who are you?” is the first question that escapes Oikawa, followed by a “where am I?” because seeing a well-built guy who looks about the same age as him in a random place he spent a drunken night triggers all sorts of questions in his head.

“Good morning to you too,” the dark-haired guy replies dryly, turning away from a still wide-eyed Oikawa and taking a sip from his cup.

Oikawa honestly thought he was going to leave him hanging when he continues to ignore him in favour of his hot drink. But after a while, he turns on his chair to face Oikawa.

“You were drunk last night and trespassed onto someone’s house,” he starts and Oikawa pulls a frown. He knows the first bit, but he doesn’t remember committing a crime like _that_. “I happened to be in the area and the guy threatened to call the cops unless I brought you away.”

“Okay…” Oikawa answers sceptically. He’s been taught not to trust others easily, and there are a few things that make Oikawa doubt his explanation. Wasn’t he with his friends last night? Sure, they were out fooling around but they wouldn’t have left him in such a pinch if they could help it right?

Besides, the perpetual grumpy look on this guy makes him look a little dangerous, something completely unrelated and purely stemming from Oikawa’s refusal to believe the worst of his friends.

“Why didn’t you just let my friends handle it?”

He raises an eyebrow at Oikawa and gives him a pointed look. “You mean the friends who took off the moment they saw the guy step out of his house?”

Oikawa tells himself it’s the way he says it that rubs him the wrong way, rather than what he said.

“Maybe they panicked or something,” he offers as a consolation more than an excuse.

“And left you drunk off your ass on the side of the road?” he follows up bluntly and turns back to his drink. “You have shitty friends.”

Now _that_ , sends a spark of anger through Oikawa’s veins. “What? Am I supposed to say you’re really magnanimous now?” he scoffs derisively. “Who knows what kind of liberties you took last night.”

“The fuck?” comes the other boy’s terse reply. He faces Oikawa to pin him with a glare. “The only thing I did to you was give you a place to stay while you were wasted.”

“Well thank you for your generosity but I didn’t ask for it,” he says sarcastically. At this point, it has nothing to do with proving him wrong; he’s arguing just for the sake of it.

The black-haired stranger shakes his head in disbelief. “I should have let the guy call the cops on you,” he mutters, choosing not to waste another moment of his precious Sunday morning with this ungrateful brat. He doesn’t spare him a second glance when he says, “The door is right there. You can see yourself out.”

* * *

By the next day, the unpleasant incident becomes a lingering thought in Iwaizumi’s mind. He supposes everyone comes across this sort of ridiculous people a handful of times in their lives. It just pisses him off that he made an effort to give the guy a ride home, sacrificed his bed for him and slept on the couch! All that and not even a word of thanks. Kindness sometimes does not beget kindness.

Whatever. He has better things to care about, like whether he has time to squeeze in another shift at his part-time job. Speaking of which, he needs to jot down the notes from the screen before he leaves for work. Why the professor couldn’t post this on the course portal escapes him. It all seems so unnecessary to Iwaizumi that the professor feeds them with so much extra info given that it’s just an elective. Does anyone care that much about astronomy anyway?

“Hi,” a voice interrupts Iwaizumi’s scribbling before a figure casts a shadow over his notes. When he looks up and sees an annoyingly familiar face, his expression goes flat faster than a punctured tyre.

“What are you doing here,” he says more than asks.

“Would you believe it?” the brown-eyed student answers with a smile. “We’re actually in the same class.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Iwaizumi groans.

“Nope!” he chirps, unfazed by Iwaizumi’s apparent displeasure at seeing him again. He had noticed him from across the lecture hall, surprised to say the least. After going back home yesterday and verifying what actually went down with his friends, who not only did not apologize for taking off without him but made a joke out of it, Oikawa did feel sorry about the way things happened with his so-called rescuer.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces. Perhaps this is a chance for a do-over, but Oikawa is never one to admit his wrongs first. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I know we started off on the wrong foot and I recognize that you gave me a place to stay when I was not in a very good place so I would like to show my gratitude.”

“Okay…?” Iwaizumi trails off, expecting him to finally say ‘thank you’.

Instead, Oikawa serves him another round of incredulity when he offers, “I can pay you rent for the night.”

Why is he not surprised that his gratitude was practically him being snobbish?

“You rich people really think you can just settle everything with money huh?” Iwaizumi retorts, a sneer hanging off his mouth. “I don’t need your money.”

The harsh response takes Oikawa slightly aback but he presses on. “Well, what do you—”

“Are you done?” Iwaizumi cuts him off impatiently. “You’re blocking my view of the screen.”

He decides he doesn’t want to bother himself with someone who doesn’t realize that a ‘sorry’ and ‘thanks’ are sufficient. It achieves the desired effect, for Oikawa inhales deeply, adjusts the strap of his Braun Buffel bag and strides away without another word.

Iwaizumi doesn’t watch him go, but resumes his scribbling, until a classmate sitting in front of him turns back to regard him with an impressed but somehow sorry expression and says, “Way to piss off the richest kid in school.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

The jingle of keys and a soft ‘I’m home’ signify the end of a long day at school and work for Iwaizumi. He thought he could get by the rest of the night in peace but when he catches a _look_ from his housemates the moment he entered the living room, Iwaizumi knows he’s in for something.

“What.”

Hanamaki’s cheeky expression is not at all subtle and he knows better than to pretend he doesn’t see it, because that guy has his way with extracting answers from unsuspecting victims. The pink-haired flatmate sits up against the couch and regards Iwaizumi with a lazy smirk, deserting his laptop on the coffee table.

“Iwaizumi. Welcome back,” he greets, deliberately holding back the agenda.

“What do you want,” he narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, then turns to Matsukawa for some answers, but he merely quirks a brow.

Even though they’re housemates, they tended to miss each other on the weekends, with Iwaizumi’s work schedule, Hanamaki’s tendency to visit his family in Chiba and Matsukawa’s surprisingly active social life. So of course the minute they’re all back here, there’s something brewing.

“Wanna tell us why you brought Oikawa Tooru back to our apartment yesterday?” Hanamaki finally says with a glint in his eyes.

“A drunk Oikawa Tooru,” Matsukawa supplies helpfully from the kitchen. “I thought you were out on a job.”

“I was,” Iwaizumi answers levelly, then frowns. “Why the hell does everyone know who he is?”

“Uhh…he’s only the richest kid in school?” Hanamaki says like it’s supposed to be a well-known fact. But Iwaizumi doesn’t keep up with trivialities like this.

“His dad is the CEO of Aoba Johsai Holdings,” Matsukawa adds.

“What do you know…” Iwaizumi mutters with a roll of his eyes. He’s at least heard of Aoba Johsai Holdings – they’re one of the largest sportswear brand in Japan and almost every athlete owns minimally one item from their vast product range.

“So?” Hanamaki urges, scooting forward on the couch. “What’s the story?”

Iwaizumi thinks he’s about to be disappointed when he understands that all he got out of bringing a rich, handsome kid back to their apartment was a terrible first impression and definitely not anything Hanamaki’s dirty mind conjured.

When he finishes his explanation, Hanamaki was indeed a little disappointed, but it made for a rather dramatic story anyway and he couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to mess around with Iwaizumi.

“Who knew it’d be one of the most eligible bachelors in the school?” he teases. “Did you get his number?”

“No,” Iwaizumi replies immediately, helping himself to a can of Pocari Sweat from the fridge. He might have a face that’s pleasing to the eye, but it doesn’t count for anything if he has an awful personality. “Turns out he’s a prick. Not a word of thanks and he even had the nerve to imply I did something to him.”

“Hm, not something I would say to someone who just put me up for the night,” Matsukawa says thoughtfully.

“Especially when his friends left him in the lurch,” Hanamaki adds.

“Yeah, he wasn’t very pleased when I reminded him of how his shitty friends abandoned him by the roadside,” Iwaizumi comments, replaying the scene in his mind and how Oikawa’s tone had dropped to a scathing notch.

“Oh, you actually said that to him?” Hanamaki asks genuinely.

“Um yeah.”

It wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, but Iwaizumi wasn’t treated very kindly either.

“Maybe that’s why he’s so pissy,” Hanamaki offers. “He was probably being defensive. Even if he has shit taste in friends.”

Jokes and sassiness aside, Hanamaki is a perceptive person and more often than not, he raised valid points. Iwaizumi’s beginning to feel a bit guilty about his attitude towards Oikawa. Admittedly, his good deed went unappreciated at first, but Oikawa did try to make amends, albeit in a distasteful way. Iwaizumi’s parents taught him that even if another person treated him badly, he shouldn’t perpetuate it. Great, now he feels compelled to set things right.

“Well at least you don’t have to deal with him anymore,” Matsukawa points out.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi suddenly remembers. “We actually have a class together.”

Hanamaki’s head snaps towards him. “I thought he was in the Business school.”

“It’s our Astronomy elective.”

“Huh,” Matsukawa responds interestedly.

“He came up to me after class today and I thought he was gonna apologize but his pompous ass offered to pay me rent instead,” Iwaizumi explains, getting irritated as he continues. “Do these rich kids not know how to say a simple ‘thank you’?”

The sheer presumptuousness of Oikawa and the fact that Iwaizumi is this annoyed about it, incites a bout of laughter from Hanamaki.

“That’s rich people for you,” Matsukawa says in amusement.

“Maybe one day, you’ll get your thanks,” Hanamaki adds once he catches his breath.

“Forget it,” Iwaizumi laughs wryly.

He doesn’t think he’ll be interacting with Oikawa anymore, given how their last exchange ended on a bad note. And even if he might see him during lecture, he’s not sure he wants to bring up the experience again since a week would have passed, and who knows, maybe he’ll just be another random passer-by in Oikawa Tooru’s extravagant life.

* * *

Iwaizumi ended up being half-right when he spots Oikawa, clad in a branded sweater and designer shoes, approaching the professor at the front of the lecture hall after class next week. There are pockets of students left but none of them are busy with the course materials, most of them chit-chatting and making plans for later. As for Iwaizumi, he was searching the hall for any lone-rangers like him, who he could partner for the pair-work they were just assigned with.

Seeing Oikawa approach the professor takes him by surprise, because he appears to have something important to ask and it’s odd since students generally don’t take such electives very seriously. He definitely did not strike Iwaizumi as the type who would. Iwaizumi watches their exchange absentmindedly, but notices the way Oikawa’s too-sweet smile drops into a straight line when the professor shakes his head at something Oikawa said.

Eventually, Oikawa gives up on whatever he intended to achieve, and turns back with his head held high. He’s coming this way, Iwaizumi realizes belatedly, and figures that this is probably only the time he can attempt to make things…less bad. He’s got nothing to lose anyway.

“Hey,” he calls out when Oikawa reaches his seat.

“Oh,” the student says, too caught up in his thoughts to realize Iwaizumi was there. The moment he did though, his tone goes curt. “Yes?”

“Oikawa right?” Iwaizumi asks, not letting his obvious and intentional change in attitude distract him.

“Yes.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Look, about last week, I was rather harsh. Sorry.”

Oikawa’s reply is snide, but the Engineering major frankly didn’t expect anything much. “Were you now? I hardly remember.”

He’s encountered numerous people who went through a 180° change in attitude towards him and tried to get into his good books after finding out who he is. So he feels cynical about Iwaizumi’s apology and isn’t mature enough to admit that he’s simply indignant about being snubbed.

Iwaizumi doesn’t rise to the bait. “I wasn’t trying to antagonize you,” he clarifies. “I was just pissed off that you thought paying me rent was somehow the way to go. You could have just said ‘thank you’ like a normal person.”

“I did say ‘thank you’,” Oikawa huffs and crosses his arms.

“Sarcastically,” Iwaizumi points out dryly and looks away. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I could have left you at the roadside anyway.”

For some reason, Oikawa could not find any ulterior motive behind those words.

“You looked like shit,” Iwaizumi finishes.

Oikawa squawks, affronted. “Hey! I’ll have you know that my image is impeccable even when I’m drunk.”

The Engineering major smirks humourously. “It really was not.”

The first thing that enters Oikawa’s mind is how brutally honest this person is. It catches him off guard, because he always had to deal with people speaking to him purposefully and carefully, whether it was to suck up to him or avoid offending him, not with people who couldn’t care less about what he thought. For a second, Oikawa didn’t know how to react, until Iwaizumi looks back at him with a curious gaze.

In that moment, an idea seeds in his mind.

“…You know,” Oikawa starts. “I don’t think I got your name.”

The short-haired student regards him thoughtfully for a brief moment.

“Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Well Iwaizumi-san,” Oikawa says with a lilt, “What do you say we pair up for the assignment?”

* * *

_Omake_

_This drunkard is heavier than he looks. Iwaizumi grunts as he drags Oikawa’s lifeless body up the entranceway. He decides against taking off Oikawa’s shoes because it’s simply too much work to have to pick him up again. He makes it a point however, to mop the floor tomorrow. He removes his own shoes though._

_Iwaizumi pulls Oikawa up against his side, a bit too roughly if he cared to admit. It takes a few tugs to eventually get the offending body into his room. He contemplated throwing him on the couch, but he was afraid he might puke on the carpet. Then that would not only be his problem, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa would chew him out._

_Slinging his arm away from his neck, Iwaizumi drops him on the bed and exhales deeply. He stretches out his muscles and looks down at the sleeping figure. Notwithstanding the stench of alcohol and the way his mouth is hanging slightly open, he has nice features Iwaizumi supposes._

_In a sudden movement, Oikawa reaches under his shirt to scratch his belly, exposing a sliver of skin above his jeans. Sighing, Iwaizumi lifts him up by the shoulders to free him of his jacket and fixes his shirt. He moves down to take off his shoes now, because he isn’t about to get his sheets dirty. After folding the jacket and leaving it on the nightstand, Iwaizumi surveys the piece of work._

_He will never understand how anyone can risk putting themselves in such a vulnerable situation._

_Oikawa murmurs something unintelligible and pulls a frown. He tosses for a while and settles with sprawling on his side, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed._

_At least one of them is comfortable. Iwaizumi will have to make do with sleeping on the couch tonight. Honestly, he doesn’t get paid enough to do the things he does._

_For good measure, he picks up his wastepaper bin from under his study desk and slides it near Oikawa’s head._

_“Don’t you dare throw up,” Iwaizumi warns futilely at the person already in deep slumber, before leaving to fetch a glass of water._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes I word-vomit about iwaoi on twitter @project_ecto


	2. artisanal coffee vs. vending machine coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny story: i got into iwaoi before i got into haikyuu. how does that work? when you're attracted to the aesthetics of a ship (not just the way they look, but the way they're portrayed so thanks hq fandom for that). here's another consequence of my iwaoi addiction. enjoy!

Of all places, rich-boy had to choose one that’s clearly way out of a typical university student’s budget. For their first meet-up to discuss their pair assignment, he decided that they’ll do it at an upscale café, where they served all-day breakfast sets, sugary patisseries and artisanal coffee at exorbitant prices (according to Iwaizumi’s standards), without giving his fellow classmate much of a choice.

Iwaizumi hadn’t even known that it was such an expensive place until he looked it up on Google maps while making his way there. By then, Oikawa was about to arrive and Iwaizumi was definitely running late, so he grumbled under his breath and trudged his way to the café.

Couldn’t they have met on campus instead? Most students did that.

(But Oikawa Tooru was not most students.)

This better not be their default arrangement.

When Iwaizumi pushes past the glass doors, the sight of a quiet café designed in European architecture and smartly-dressed baristas working at the counter greets him. Another sight that greets him is Oikawa raising his hand from a corner of the café to wave him over cheerily. Iwaizumi goes over to join him, mouth set in a grim line. This is going to burn a hole in his wallet.

In contrast to Iwaizumi’s lateness, Oikawa was more than punctual. It seems like he had been here for some time, with his MacBook already out and a few notes strewn across the table-top.

“Do we _have_ to come here?” the late-comer grouses, pulling a seat opposite Oikawa.

“What’s wrong with this place?” he questions, tilting his head innocently. Iwaizumi’s brow twitches in response. Of fucking course rich-boy has the social consideration of all other rich-boys.

“Not everyone’s the son of a CEO of a multi-national company,” is his blunt reply, not bothering to mask his evident displeasure.

That makes Oikawa’s eyes widen by a fraction in realization.

“I can pay for your share,” he offers with what he views as generosity. “Order whatever. I do recommend their scones and the Colombian roast coffee, or the fruit teas if you’re not much of a coffee-drinker.”

“No thanks,” Iwaizumi says before he can list of other kinds of food and drinks he hardly encounters in his daily life.

“I’ve already ordered something, so you don’t have to I suppose,” Oikawa points out, referring to his blueberry scone with a side of clotted cream and his cup of whatever-roast coffee that’s layered with half-destroyed latte art.

Iwaizumi would have taken up the suggestion to go someplace else instead without any hesitation but guess not. Besides, he was already here, Oikawa looks like he’s started, and he’s kind of lazy to change locations now. Still, his pride prevents him from leeching off Oikawa’s order that can be finished in much less than the amount of time they’re going to be here. So he gets up to reluctantly order himself some expensive shit.

They get started on their assignment the moment Iwaizumi returns with a large fancy mug of hot chocolate (it was the only thing he recognized on the menu). Oikawa had jumped right into it, asking Iwaizumi how familiar he was with the mysteries of the third millennium astronomy, the topic of their assignment. Not surprisingly, he had no clue, and Oikawa appeared very eager about the Fermi paradox, so he went along with it.

Throughout their discussion, the Business major took charge of most of their conversations, not that Iwaizumi minded since this was merely another elective to him though he did contribute some ideas here and there. Oikawa on the other hand, tells a different story. He spoke with vigour and his eyes sparkled with keen interest and wonderment. His fingers deftly tap away at his laptop, building up their notes and report on the Google doc he created, without Iwaizumi having to lift his finger.

Sometimes, when he says something about extra-terrestrial life that sounds rather profound to Iwaizumi, the dark-haired student has to hide an impressed smirk. Other times, when he thinks of a really good idea for their assignment, his eyes light up perceptibly and he scrunches his nose in concentration when he weaves those thoughts into their report.

To Iwaizumi, his fervour towards the topic is almost palpable.

“You really like this subject huh,” he mentions offhandedly when Oikawa was typing while balancing a pen in his hand.

Oikawa looks up at the unexpected comment, studying Iwaizumi to determine if he’s actually making fun of him. He shrugs before glancing back down to his laptop.

“It’s a good break from the boring business modules,” he answers innocuously and deflects the question back. “What about you? Why’d you choose this elective?”

“Heard it was an easy A.”

At that, Oikawa finds something to tease Iwaizumi about – a convenient reason to turn the attention away from his undeniable interest in an insignificant elective.

“Are you trying to leech off me Iwa-chan?” he teases with an impish smile.

There are a few issues Iwaizumi has with that sentence.

“First of all, you were the one who wanted me to pair up with you,” he begins firmly. “Secondly, I’m not a slacker. Thirdly, who the hell you calling ‘Iwa-chan’?”

“Because ‘Iwaizumi-san’ is too long right?” Oikawa says dismissively.

“It’s my name dumbass.”

“It’s fine isn’t it,” Oikawa waves him off. “Anyway, I don’t care if you’re a slacker. I was prepared to do this assignment alone. In fact, I asked the professor if I could hand this in individually but he said no.”

Iwaizumi finds that perplexing enough to let go of the name issue. “Why would you want to do this on your own?”

“Not everyone has friends taking the same elective,” Oikawa mimics Iwaizumi’s earlier quip, his smugness for doing so not escaping the latter.

Iwaizumi tells him with a roll of his eyes, “I didn’t take this elective with my friends either but I would have just asked around.”

“I did ask around,” is Oikawa’s cheeky response, meeting dark-green eyes with playful ones. He had asked on a whim and after an awkward apology, but he had asked all the same. Iwaizumi lets him win this time.

The two students focus on their assignment for the most part, their conversations interspersed with comfortable silence and the occasional light banter as they worked on their report. A redeeming factor this café had was their 50% discount if you order a refill and reckoning that they’ll be here long enough for another cup, Iwaizumi had gone ahead to order one, already behind Oikawa who got himself a fruit tart and is down to the last bit of his second cup of coffee.

He’s now explaining in scary detail how they could use films as examples to illustrate their points – something about spicing up their report and setting it apart from every other pair who scraped together technical jargon from their notes and Wikipedia. But Iwaizumi is not really following when one moment he’s talking about how the Na’vi in Avatar simply had no interest in exploring other planets (a shame!) and in another, about how the aliens in District 9 and Home sought out Earth only when they were forced to seek refuge.

“I watched A Space Odyssey three times just so I could understand it,” Oikawa rambles to his one-person audience, his hands moving animatedly and bright eyes darting around like all these movies are alive around him. “Like _really_ understand it.”

Iwaizumi has never seen A Space Odyssey, and the only movies he can watch multiple times are the Godzilla ones.

A waitress walks by after refilling a customer’s drink and Oikawa promptly catches her attention with a slight wave.

“Excuse me,” he says politely, the tone of his voice going much more composed than a second ago. He glimpses at her name tag before continuing, “Sachiko-san, can I get another refill of my coffee please?”

Iwaizumi notices Oikawa offer her a saccharine smile.

“Certainly,” she answers with a shy one of her own, likely not accustomed to customers addressing her by her name, especially not a disarmingly attractive one. “Did you have it with or without whipped cream?”

“Without,” he replies sweetly, and holds her gaze with a nonchalant expression. “By the way, do you work here often? I visit this café quite regularly but I don’t think I’ve seen you much.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow. Is he doing what he thinks he’s doing? Flirting with the waitress like a clichéd rom-com scene? What’s with rich kids and their constant need to prove that they can have it all?

She appears to be surprised by the unexpected question, but tells him anyway, “Oh—I only have shifts on two days a week.”

“Ah,” he says with interest, though Iwaizumi thinks it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I think the café would do better with you working here.”

Obviously that colours her cheeks a faint shade of pink. She replies with something humble but clearly flattered, although Iwaizumi doesn’t catch it. Oikawa flashes her that same sickeningly sweet smile, and Iwaizumi wonders who he’s putting up a show for. Definitely not for him, and he feels like wiping it off his smug face as the waitress trots away. To think Oikawa had been rattling on about aliens and shit like the closeted nerd he is barely a moment before.

What a scam.

“Do you flirt with all the girls you meet?” Iwaizumi is compelled to ask. He might think Oikawa’s appearance is pleasing to the eyes, but he’s not the least bit charmed by his little act.

“It’s called cultivating your stakeholder relationships,” he says in a self-satisfied tone.

“What the hell?”

“She’s a barista. If she’s here more often and favours me as a strikingly handsome and gentlemanly customer, I’d imagine I would get some perks out of it, like larger refills or faster service,” Oikawa answers complacently. “Maybe she’ll make me a nice latte art.”

It escapes Iwaizumi why it had to be so calculated. Seems like extra effort for something so trivial. He must be making a face at Oikawa, for he follows up with a flippant shrug, “Anyway, it’s called being nice Iwa-chan. I guess you won’t know anything about that.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi interjects, pinning Oikawa with a pointed look. “Is giving some drunkard a place to stay for the night not nice enough for you?”

“Touché.”

After they’ve been working for a little over two hours and Oikawa has emptied his third cup of coffee (which had been topped with intricately drawn latte art, something Oikawa purposefully points out – that idiot), Iwaizumi prepares to turn off his laptop. They’re not completely done – it still needs more research and brainstorming – but it’s time for him to head to his next destination.

“Hey, I gotta go,” he tells Oikawa, who looks up from his MacBook in apparent surprise. “Can you handle the parts we went through and let me know what you need me to work on next?”

“Where are you going?” Oikawa asks in lieu of an answer, watching him pack his things into his faded black bag.

“I have to go to work.”

“You work?”

Iwaizumi’s hand stops mid-way to the zipper. The question is so innocently asked that Iwaizumi’s almost jealous of rich boys who grew up with a silver spoon in their mouths and never tasted hardship.

“Yes,” he says flatly, before the zipper goes _ziiiiip_ in less than a second. “I have a part-time job. It’s what people do when they need money.”

Oikawa squawks and exclaims, “I know that!”

Iwaizumi merely smirks at his expense. He’s an interesting character, but still a shitty rich boy.

* * *

To Iwaizumi’s relief, their next few meet-ups are on campus, and to his credit, he always managed to get Oikawa to meet him in the library near his classrooms at the Faculty of Science and Engineering.

They have a usual spot in a quiet corner of the library, next to the huge windows where they can see the sky turn dark after spending a good part of their afternoon on the assignment. Oikawa still unleashes the dorkier side of him when he gets particularly carried away about some space or alien-related concept and Iwaizumi has trouble reconciling that side of him with the side he expresses when he’s with his rich friends who sometimes meet him after lecture.

It’s not as if Iwaizumi cares; having Oikawa as a partner honestly works in his favour. The Business major is more than willing to handle most of the assignment and actually comes up with clever ideas. Notwithstanding his pompous quips and inflated ego, Iwaizumi’s at least grateful for that, since he either has no time or energy given his other commitments. So he doesn’t care if Oikawa puts up appearances as long as he’s invested in getting their assignment an A.

Sometimes, when they’ve finished their deliverables for the day, Iwaizumi would stay behind to work on his other courses. Oikawa rarely ever joins him, and most of the time it’s because they meet on the days he has piano classes.

Iwaizumi learns a few other things about the hazel-eyed nerd. Apparently, he has a double major in business strategy and banking and finance. Iwaizumi can barely juggle his homework, his part-time job, a practically non-existent social life without feeling drained at the end of the week and here was rich boy specialising in two majors, taking piano classes (and other classes he doesn’t know about yet), fanboying over alien movies _and_ somehow still finding the time to get drunk in front of people’s residences. That’s the high life, he supposes.

He also finds out that Oikawa seriously only drinks artisanal coffee and that that the friends who sometimes come meet him after class are there to invite themselves to his mansion of a house. It’s something that irks Iwaizumi for some reason, when he sees Oikawa interacting with them with too-loud laughter and too-wide smiles, like they’re bigger than what he feels. It all seems so contrived, like that day with the waitress.

There was once when he caught Oikawa’s gaze as he was about to leave with his friends. It had been for just a second, when Oikawa looked almost troubled before he looked away and put on his usual blithe smile – but Iwaizumi’s smart enough to know that it’s not his business.

In the same way, Oikawa learns a few things about him too. Iwa-chan’s in the Department of Applied Informatics and as far as Oikawa can remember, it’s something about building useful and secure information environments for the industry – a skill that’s in high demand if Oikawa could say so himself. He’s Sendai-born and bred, only coming to Tokyo for university. He’s as mean as they come; Oikawa’s never met anyone who’s as unapologetically candid as he is. He complains about it and fires his own insults back at him, but frankly, it’s a refreshing change from the people he has to deal with on a daily basis. And despite his brutish nature, Iwa-chan has a nice smile, whether it’s because he’s genuinely pleased about something or making fun of Oikawa.

Iwa-chan also has a part-time job in an auto shop (something he hears about over a can of rejected vending machine coffee) in which he services old and older cars for customers who’ve had the same problematic car for years, and for those with luxurious cars simply for the sake of boasting. Oikawa would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine Iwaizumi working on a Mazda in an oil-stained tank top with the sleeves of his overalls loosely tied around his hips.

Frankly, he doesn’t actually think about Iwaizumi that much, since they only have one class together and probably won’t see each other again by the end of the semester, so Oikawa surprises even himself when the first person he can think of calling from the police station on a cold, late night in Shibuya is Iwaizumi.

“Hello?” the spiky-haired student answers curiously when he notices Oikawa’s name lighting up his screen.

 _“Hey Iwa-chan…”_ comes a surprisingly meek voice for a personality like Oikawa Tooru. Purely by instinct, Iwaizumi sits up straighter at his desk, senses going alert. _“Can you come pick me up?”_

“The hell?”

 _“I’m kinda in a pinch,”_ Oikawa says, almost nervous. _“I’m at the police station and they need someone to pick me up before they’ll let me go.”_

Iwaizumi rubs a hand over his tired face as he processes that information. This is not how he imagined his Friday night would go. He has a plethora of questions running through his mind right now, none of which he’ll get any answers to if he stays on the phone like this, he reckons. There is one question he would like answered though.

“Why are you calling me Oikawa?”

The line is silent, save for the distant sound of a ringing phone on the other end, until Oikawa replies, _“I…I don’t know who else to call.”_

 _Your family?_ is the first thing Iwaizumi wants to say, but it’s apparent that Oikawa is calling him because he _cannot_ call his family for some reason. He’s never talked about his family much, so Iwaizumi doesn’t know better, but he doesn’t pry.

“Ugh…” he groans into his phone, wondering how he managed to get caught up in drama like this. Unbeknownst to him, Oikawa feels his heart sink at the supposed exasperation, but then Iwa-chan says, “Where are you?”

_“Shibuya Police Station.”_

It’s not too far, Iwaizumi thinks.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

He hangs up before he can hear Oikawa sound any more vulnerable than he already is. As he hops onto his scooter, Iwaizumi is still puzzled over why he’s doing this, but he thinks it has to do with the fact that he can’t ignore him like the first time he couldn’t leave him on the roadside.

After he arrives at the formidably tall building that is the Shibuya Police Station and successfully collects Oikawa, claiming they’re relatives, Iwaizumi stops outside the large doors and fixes him with a cold stare.

“Tell me why I have to pick you up from the police station on a Friday night,” he demands without preamble. The officer handling the case warned against getting into street fights, but Iwaizumi wanted more than that from the person who called him here.

Oikawa fiddles with the hem of his jacket uneasily. “I was hanging out with my friends,” he begins because he knows he owes Iwaizumi an explanation for troubling him. “And they got caught in a scuffle with some people.”

Iwaizumi raises his brow, signalling for him to continue.

“We don’t even know who they were,” Oikawa says, voice rising indignantly. “They just—got pissed off that one of us was staring and started to pick a fight. It wasn’t me, Iwa-chan! And before I knew it, it turned into a brawl and the police came.”

Iwaizumi sighs. If Oikawa was telling the truth (and he presumes he is, because he couldn’t imagine cultured, pompous Oikawa would start a street fight of all things), it wasn’t his fault for being caught in a fight among childish, rowdy students. After all, experience tells Iwaizumi that his friends tended to get themselves into these sorts of problems and Oikawa so happened to be that hapless guy.

The troubled look that Oikawa sported that one time after class flashes across his mind, and Iwaizumi wonders why he let himself fall into situations like this.

“You know Iwa-chan, I’m the victim here,” Oikawa huffs out, an attempt to absolve himself from wrong-doing, a trick he’s learnt over the years, and to convince himself that he doesn’t deserve the pointed look Iwaizumi is giving him. “Everything happened so fast that I didn’t get a chance to defend myself. I didn’t start anything and yet I’m the one who got injured.”

He pulls up his jacket sleeves to reveal the abrasions on his hands for good measure.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Iwaizumi counters. He wonders if Oikawa’s friends sported injuries of their own. “Where are your friends?”

“They got picked up.”

“Were they hurt too?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa replies with slight annoyance, wondering what this has to do with anything. He just wants to get out of here. “A couple of them got away before the police arrived and the others were picked up quite early on.”

“Those who were at the station with you,” Iwaizumi presses. “Did they at least make sure that you had someone to come get you?”

It dawns on Oikawa what Iwaizumi is trying to do, and he keeps his mouth shut. He has a hunch this will be a repeat of the time they first met, and Oikawa will not be baited. The lack of response tells Iwaizumi just as much. He doesn’t mince his words when he asks, “Why do you even hang out with them?”

“They’re my friends,” he answers without thinking because if he put too much thought into it, he’ll know that it’s not true.

See, that’s what Iwaizumi’s problem is. Oikawa is lying and he knows it himself too. So why the hell is he pretending?

“How are they your friends when you don’t even like them?”

It comes out more accusatory than he intended and Oikawa feels his pretence being picked apart, so he sets his walls a little higher, because Iwaizumi Hajime is no one, and Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t _know_ him.

“How would you know?” he shoots back, defensive.

“Because you always seem like you’re trying too hard,” Iwaizumi says.

“I don’t have to _try_ to do anything,” Oikawa retorts, offended. “I am—”

“You do though,” he cuts him off, not buying the lies Oikawa feeds him and himself, but there is no bite behind his words. “You act like you enjoy their company, like this whole situation doesn’t bother you. Hell, you act like you want them to like you, when we both know it doesn’t mean shit. So back to my first question Oikawa, why do you even hang out with them? You’re smarter than that.”

It hits a raw nerve, for the simple fact that Oikawa knows he _is_ smarter than that. He knows that they’re with him because of his status, his connections, and how easy it is to use that for their own entertainment. But it’s the easiest way he knows how to make friends, and keep them. Even if they don’t give a shit – not when they left him drunk, not even now. And Iwaizumi knows Oikawa’s not that much of a fool to be oblivious to that.

The cold air has grown heavy between them, and all of a sudden Iwaizumi feels bad for bringing this up. It’s not like he wanted to dig up Oikawa’s insecurities or anything, but Iwaizumi’s been a straight-laced person, and he sees this for what it is. But now Oikawa looks like a kicked puppy, his lips pressed together stiffly, his eyes refusing to meet Iwaizumi’s. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so candid, especially after Oikawa just went through the events of tonight.

“Come on,” he says, putting the matter to rest. “Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home.”

He leads the way to where he parked his scooter, but Oikawa’s voice stops him.

“Um. Can I…stay over?”

Iwaizumi whirls around to face him in surprise, eyebrows furrowed. Oikawa finally meets his eyes.

“I don’t feel like going home.”

* * *

“You can take a shower first,” Iwaizumi tells him as he deposits his keys on the shoe cabinet. “I can lend you my clothes. They should fit.”

“Mm. Okay,” Oikawa responds absentmindedly, padding into the house and looking around curiously. Despite being here before, it feels like an entirely new place. They weren’t exactly in the mood for a house tour then. Now that he’s here again, he takes the time to take in his surroundings, as Iwaizumi disappears into his room.

The apartment is small – way smaller than his own residence, although it’s garish of him to even compare. He’s standing in the living room, and to his right is the kitchen. There’s a hallway flanked by three rooms and possibly a bathroom. Is this what they call a 3LDK? It’s so…tiny.

Before Oikawa can scrutinize the fixtures and decorations (simple and minimal in any case) or make any more gross comparisons, Iwaizumi emerges from his room with a towel and some clothes.

“Here,” he says. “Bathroom’s over there. We have a limit on how much hot water we can use so don’t take too long in there. And I don’t want to hear anything about how cheap our shampoo is.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything…” Oikawa mumbles, taking the clothes from Iwaizumi.

He takes a longer time than necessary, only because he had to figure out how to work the shower head and which shampoo to use (he almost used the colour-treated one by mistake). It’s not like there’s much to explore in the bathroom, given how small and functional it is. But the hot water hitting his skin is much appreciated after a long night of getting caught in a scuffle and being held in a police station, notwithstanding the way his cuts sting.

He might not be the kindest person, but he recognizes a good deed when it’s done. And even if Iwaizumi had brought up things he’d rather keep hidden, had practically seen through him, at the end of it he had answered his phone, picked him up from the police station, and let him stay the night (again).

Oikawa lets out a long breath, the puff of air escaping into the steam around him. He supposes a ‘thank you’ is long overdue.

The shower did wonders to his mood and by the time he was out, he feels incredibly better. Iwa-chan’s clothes fit him nicely, and they feel warm.

He finds Iwaizumi in the kitchen, busying at the stove.

“You didn’t use all the hot water did you?” he frowns when Oikawa walks in, and notices the droplets of water dripping off the ends of his hair. Even when damp, he manages to make it look perfectly mussed damn it.

“Please Iwa-chan, I’m not that inconsiderate.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, slightly relieved that he seems to be back to his normal self. He doesn’t think he can tolerate the awkwardness if he’s moping about the whole night.

“Take this,” he says, and passes Oikawa a hard-boiled egg and kitchen towel.

“What’s this for?” he asks, puzzled.

“For your bruise,” he answers, pointing at his forehead.

There’s a long moment of silence as Oikawa ponders how on earth an egg would help with his bruise. He must have been making a face, for Iwaizumi adds irritably, “Just peel it,” before rummaging through the cabinets.

Still baffled, Oikawa peels the shell off, but before he can take a chunk out of it, Iwaizumi asks, “What are you doing?”

“Eating it?”

“You don’t—” he starts, then scoffs in disbelief. “You don’t eat it. Give it here.”

He strides over to Oikawa, takes the egg from him, and tells him to sit. Oikawa finds this all rather odd, but does as he’s told. He watches intently as Iwaizumi wraps the egg in the kitchen towel, pulling the cloth taut over it. There’s no time to react but to flinch when Iwaizumi puts the wrapped egg against the side of his forehead and rubs small circles over his bruise.

Oikawa blinks in surprise. Okay…he did not know the egg could be used for this purpose. He feels the heat rising to his cheeks, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the embarrassment from not knowing or the proximity between their faces. From this distance, he can see the flecks of brown in his eyes.

“Keep still,” he says when Oikawa’s head lolls from the ministration.

“It kinda hurts,” he points out petulantly.

“You can take it,” Iwaizumi quips, then smirks in amusement. “Can’t believe you wanted to eat it.”

Oikawa makes a sound of protest at the back of his throat. “Don’t people usually apply ointment to bruises?”

The haughty tone doesn’t escape Iwaizumi’s notice. “Sorry _bocchan_ , I don’t have ointment. You’ll have to deal with this.”

That way of addressing him – all taunting and devious – reduces Oikawa into a spluttering mess. Iwaizumi gloats in his victory.

“Do it yourself,” he tells Oikawa and hands him back the egg to retrieve the first-aid kit. Oikawa reluctantly continues the motion with a pout. Iwa-chan is all about tough love isn’t he?

“Give me your hand.”

Oikawa holds out his hand hesitantly.

“Relax,” he says, noting how tense Oikawa’s hand is. “I’m not gonna do anything weird.”

He knows; he can see the tube of antiseptic cream and a blob of it on the Q-tip Iwaizumi is holding. Iwaizumi takes his hand in his and feels the tension in his fingers ease. “This is gonna sting a bit.”

Oikawa sucks in a breath when the cool cream meets the open skin on the inside of this wrists. But Iwa-chan is surprisingly gentle when he has to be. And against his better judgement, Oikawa focuses his attention on Iwa-chan instead.

He thought his hair looked dry, but now Oikawa thinks it’ll feel soft if he runs his hands through them. Iwa-chan has an attractive jawline – the line of it is sharp, leading to sculpted cheeks. His eyelashes are nowhere as long as Oikawa’s, so they don’t hide his green eyes, which Oikawa is beginning to think are beautiful, no matter what his brutish nature says.

“All done,” he announces once he’s finished applying cream to Oikawa’s other hand. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” he replies, clenching and unclenching his fingers to get some feeling back in them. He watches Iwaizumi keep the first-aid kit, back facing him, and Oikawa stops himself from thinking any more than it’s just a back before he gets too carried away.

“I owe you one,” he says quite abruptly, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal or something.”

Iwaizumi turns, studying his face. He looks almost sheepish.

“Idiot, you don’t owe me anything.”

He’s not much of a favour-for-favour person. He doesn’t keep track of the things he does for his friends. Not everything has to be paid back.

The Engineering student doesn’t realize that Oikawa has gone quiet for a while, until he speaks again, soft and thoughtful.

“You’re so nice, Iwa-chan.”

“Friends do shit for each other,” he answers plainly. “It’s no big deal.”

_Friends._

They’ve known each other for a grand total of three weeks, with their exchanges limited to meeting up for schoolwork and huh—Oikawa supposes that yeah, they are friends now. It is a big deal though, at least to him. It’s the first time he’s made a friend with no tricks, no pretences – just him.

“You know, I never really thanked you properly for the first time,” Oikawa murmurs, his pride and embarrassment in the way. He pushes them aside for now, and meets Iwaizumi’s gaze because he means it this time. “So thank you.”

Iwaizumi peers at him carefully, but he has already averted his gaze.

“Stop,” he says not unkindly. Oikawa snaps his head up, startled at the unexpected response. “It’s weird when you’re being…like this.”

Oikawa’s initial surprise dissipates into a light chuckle when he understands that Iwaizumi was merely not accustomed to this side of him. He was almost shy, if Oikawa dared say so himself. “How articulate,” he teases.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, refusing to acknowledge the glimmer in Oikawa’s eyes. “And you’re welcome. Are you done with the egg? If you are, you can eat it now.”

“Ew, no,” is Oikawa’s immediate response, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t waste a good egg.”

“I’m not eating it after you rubbed it on my bruise,” he insists.

“You’re clean right?”

“Still!”

Their light banter continues until they both retire for the night, with Oikawa taking Iwaizumi’s bed (again) and the latter borrowing Hanamaki’s room. He’s 90% certain his housemate wouldn’t mind. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had already gone back for the weekend, something Iwaizumi is glad for, because things would be so much more troublesome if they were here.

He had offered his room to Oikawa, simply to avoid an entire conversation about how their sleeping arrangements should be. Besides, he couldn’t let an injured person sleep on the couch, could he? It shut Oikawa up when he said that, and he dutifully retreated to the bedroom.

They never talked about why Oikawa was staying over in the first place at all, and by extension, why he didn’t want to go home, but Iwaizumi feels that it’s a conversation for a later time.

As he lays on Hanamaki’s bed later that night, he suddenly remembers what his pink-haired friend had said.

So he did get his thanks after all.

* * *

The next morning, Oikawa is greeted with the sight of Iwaizumi in the kitchen once again. It seems as if he can hear him walk in, as he says before Oikawa can wish him a good morning, “You’re awake. We had some leftovers from yesterday, so I made breakfast.”

Breakfast is white rice, natto, grilled fish and miso soup. Oikawa pulls a seat at the kitchen island and stares at the traditional Japanese meal. He can’t say it suits his tastes much, as his daily breakfast consists of mainly Western dishes, like croissants, ham and cheese plates and what-not.

“What.”

Oikawa’s shoulders stiffen on instinct at the sound of Iwaizumi’s annoyed tone.

“Nothing!” he claims, smiling at the early-riser and supposes there’s no harm in asking if there are other options. “Do you have—”

“No,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, sitting across him. “It’s this or nothing.”

“Okay fine,” Oikawa yields, picking up his chopsticks and poking at the fish. He comments offhandedly, “You should really try having Western dishes for breakfast. I mean, Japanese food is good too, but Western breakfast food is simply amazing.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches. He gets it. Oikawa Tooru is a rich boy. He probably has a feast for breakfast every day, like biscotti and other things he can’t even pronounce. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that.

“Just eat before I hurl something at you.”

“So violent!” Oikawa says, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m not eating the natto though.”

“God, you are such a handful,” Iwaizumi sighs, but slides his plate of fried egg towards Oikawa in exchange for the natto.

Oikawa says his thanks and eats his breakfast in relative silence, which Iwaizumi finds strange, especially when he’s eating _and_ smiling at the same time.

“What is it,” Iwaizumi eventually asks, perturbed.

“It’s actually…really good,” Oikawa admits around a mouthful of grilled fish, and pops another piece into his mouth.

Iwaizumi can’t deny that he’s taken aback. Oikawa Tooru – typical rich Tokyo boy who likely never had to eat pickled plum onigiri before – enjoys peasant food? There is hope after all. He wants to make a snarky comment about this, but witnessing Oikawa relishing the simple meal unabashedly and with a pleased smile hanging off the corner of his lips changes Iwaizumi’s mind.

Instead, with not so much as a second thought, he asks, “You free this week? My roommates and I are gonna catch the new movie. You wanna come?”

* * *

_Omake_

_The sky is dark by the time they’re done with the assignment for the day. Today, Iwaizumi doesn’t have to work and he decides not to stay at the library to finish his other homework. They’re not that urgent anyway. So he finds himself walking in step with Oikawa, on their way out of the library, with Iwaizumi heading to the train station since he left his scooter at the auto shop for repairs and his partner going to wait for his driver (he has a bloody driver) outside the faculty._

_“Come on Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pleads as they walk along the quiet roads of the university, most students already back in their dorms. “Wait with me.”_

_“Why should I?” he snaps, beginning to wonder if Oikawa’s over-familiarity is going to be a long-term thing._

_“Because I don’t want to be alone,” he states as-a-matter-of-factly._

_“Isn’t this normal for you?” he asks, genuinely curious._

_“Well yeah…but since you’re here and my driver’s running late, won’t you wait with me? It’s not as boring.”_

_Iwaizumi would rather watch Netflix at home than accompany Oikawa to wait for his driver but he’s a persistent pain in the ass and would probably harp on this until Iwaizumi has no choice but to dump his body in a ditch._

_So he lets out a deep breath and says, “I’m going to get a coffee first.”_

_Oikawa, with a satisfied grin, follows him as they walk to the nearby vending machine. “Iwa-chan, you have a part-time job right? Where do you work?”_

_He’s not simply making small talk. He’s honestly interested, given that Iwaizumi doesn’t reveal much about himself unless probed._

_“At an auto shop,” Iwaizumi answers casually._

_“Like servicing cars?” Oikawa supposes, regarding his companion thoughtfully. Somehow, it suits him. Rugged, hands-on Iwa-chan solving problems for people and cars._

_“Yeah, and bikes and scooters.”_

_It’s completely instinctive that it puts a few images in Oikawa’s head, one of Iwaizumi sliding out from under a car, sweat dripping from his forehead and his lazily-worn overalls showing off his oil-stained biceps._

_Wow, he needs to stop watching those trashy music videos._

_“Is yours from the shop as well?” he manages to keep his train of thought on track._

_Iwaizumi hums affirmatively as he scans the vending machine for his usual brand of coffee. “I rented the old thing when I first came to Tokyo and it died on me. I fixed it up myself and that’s when I got the job. Been working there ever since.”_

_“Do you like it? Your job I mean.”_

_Shrugging, Iwaizumi replies, “I guess. It’s interesting, pays the bills and Ukai’s a good boss. Can’t say the same about some of the customers we get though.”_

_“What’s wrong with them?” Oikawa wonders._

_Flashbacks of conceited customers who think they’re better than others purely because they have an expensive car but know next to nothing about it invade Iwaizumi’s mind._

_“Let’s just say they think too highly of themselves,” he says briefly and selects the classic flavour._

_The coffee can tumbles out of the vending machine and Iwaizumi holds it out for Oikawa._

_“Here.”_

_Not only does Oikawa not take it, he stares down at it in mild distaste. “I only drink artisanal coffee Iwa-chan.”_

_A piercing sound of a dented can could be heard as Iwaizumi grips the coffee in irritation. That ungrateful brat._

_“Why do I even bother,” he mutters to himself, in lieu of chucking the can at Oikawa’s face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be fair, a traditional Japanese breakfast is not peasant food, but you get my drift.


	3. piano vs. movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the chapter where I overuse italics text.

“So, the famous Oikawa Tooru huh. Who knew we’d be catching a movie together on a Wednesday night?”

“The world works in mysterious ways.”

Oikawa remembers their names as Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei, Iwa-chan’s housemates. The former, a slim guy with short, pink hair (so that’s who the colour-treated shampoo is for), is an Engineering student like Iwaizumi. He’s carefree and sociable, and Oikawa – a pretty perceptive person when it comes to profiling others – can detect his tendency to mask his true intentions with wisecracks and blithe smiles.

Matsukawa Issei, tall and with narrow eyes, is a more subdued character. He’s in the Faculty of Social Sciences and the first thing Oikawa notices about him is his excellent fashion sense – a long coat draped over a simple shirt, and ankle pants that hang above a pair of casual sneakers – and Oikawa would say he’s quite well-versed in this area himself. He’s harder to read, with his naturally mild expression and occasional quips to complement Hanamaki’s.

It’s not like Oikawa makes it a point to analyze everyone he meets. It’s a habit that’s hard to break when you’ve been told to hone it to a craft for most of your adolescent life. But because they’re Iwa-chan’s friends, he reigns in his critical nature. After all, Iwa-chan invited him out for a movie. It’s been some time since he did something so…mild, with friends. He should try to have some fun.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he comments airily. He knows he has a reputation at school, being the person who everyone expects to be the successor of Aoba Johsai Holdings, and he’s always played along.

“Of course, of course,” Hanamaki says, and regards him with an impish smile. “But I have to admit, most of what we’ve heard of you came from Iwaizumi.”

“Uh oh,” Oikawa immediately says, a tease on the tip of his tongue. “I wouldn’t trust Iwa-chan to paint an accurate picture of me.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki instantly give each other a look, an eyebrow quirked in amusement and lips moving silently around the words _‘Iwa-chan?’_

“I’m sure you’ve heard, that we didn’t start out on the best of terms,” Oikawa explains nonchalantly and shrugs. “But a few things happened, and look where we are, catching a movie together on a Wednesday night.”

He tops it off with a pleased smile of his own, relishing in the way Matsukawa’s lips curl upwards at the slightest bit. Hanamaki acknowledges Oikawa’s clever mimic of his earlier preamble, returning his smile with a sideways nod. Now he has a better idea of why Iwaizumi took an interest in rich Tokyo boy over here. Admittedly, he gives off an air of over-confidence that borders on pompousness, but Hanamaki welcomes the banter, and feels that it’s ammunition for subsequent harmless teasing.

It makes him all the more motivated to find out why no-nonsense, principled Iwaizumi would take the rare initiative to invite someone who’s practically on the other end of the personality spectrum to a hang-out among old friends?

“We sure are…” he trails off, then looks at Oikawa with a gleam in his eyes. “So, Iwaizumi didn’t fill us in on the details, but what are these _few things_ that happened?”

He’s never been more curious, because of the circumstances surrounding their encounter. It had been so entertaining to hear Iwaizumi vent to them about Oikawa, and after hearing that he had willingly let him stay the night _another_ time, Hanamaki was dying to meet this guy for real.

Judging from Matsukawa’s keen expression, he reckons he’s not the only one.

Oikawa doesn’t have an immediate answer for that, because the image of Iwaizumi tending to his cuts and scratches invades his mind, and suddenly these few things aren’t just few things anymore. It’s a face that’s too close for comfort. It’s tenderness in the form of careful fingers and real kindness. And it’s a warm feeling that blooms in his chest.

But tonight’s not the night that Hanamaki gets to quell his curiosity, for Iwaizumi returns from buying the movie tickets, stashing his wallet back into his pocket.

“Movie card still works,” he announces and waves four slips of paper. “And I got the tickets.”

Nobody replies him for a brief moment and he frowns. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are sporting what he would call a shit-eating grin, and Oikawa had been looking blankly until he spoke.

“What’s going on?” he asks, but directs it more at his housemates.

“Iwa-chan you have a movie card?” Oikawa answers instead, an attempt to steer the conversation to a different topic. He’s not sure he wants to continue his previous line of thought. No, he’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want to.

“Yeah, Iwa-chan has a movie card on behalf of all of us,” Hanamaki decides to let it go tonight, but he doesn’t pass up the chance to torment Iwaizumi. “Thanks to him, we get 20% off our eighth movie.”

Iwaizumi definitely doesn’t miss how he deliberately slipped in Oikawa’s nickname for him there. He throws him a dirty look.

“Did you pay the student price?” Matsukawa asks, acting like the adult that Iwaizumi can trust him to be.

“‘Course I did,” he says, like he would let himself forget. It’s a good thing the lady at the ticket counter didn’t make him produce everyone’s student cards. (He’s experienced it before; he’s constantly on the look-out for ways to save money, but he’s honest damn it.) Iwaizumi sticks his hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve a piece of paper and says, “I have a coupon for the popcorn too. Did some online survey for it. Oikawa, go get the popcorn.”

“Why me?!” the brown-haired student exclaims at the abrupt command.

“Just go get it.”

Iwaizumi’s purely picking on him now. But he reluctantly takes the coupon from him and trudges off to the counter anyway.

When he’s out of earshot, Iwaizumi eyes them suspiciously, believing they must have said _something_ to Oikawa for him to space out.

“Don’t look at us like that,” Hanamaki tells him with a smirk. “We weren’t bullying him.”

“Whatever,” he says, believing his friends are not actual jerks to bully someone they met for the first time. But he’s well aware of their penchant to either embarrass him or sabotage him, so he’s more concerned that they told Oikawa some humiliating fun-fact or gross mistruth. “Did you guys say anything weird?”

“No, nothing weird,” Hanamaki replies light-heartedly and tilts his head towards his friend. “Matsu?”

“Hm, nope.”

Iwaizumi feels the onset of a headache coming. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Relax,” his fellow Engineering student assures him with a pat on the shoulder. “He’s fun. We like him.”

“Oh the joy,” he says dryly. He didn’t have to make it sound like he invited Oikawa out for their approval or something.

“Why did you invite him over Iwaizumi?”

It comes from Matsukawa, and the question startles him. To be frank, he didn’t put much thought into it when he asked him over breakfast that morning. Oikawa just seemed genuinely happy and carefree then, an unfortunately rare look on him, that Iwaizumi uttered those words before he could catch himself.

It will take him a while to realize that he was chasing for a chance to see that expression on Oikawa again.

“Felt bad for him I guess,” he says dismissively, but Matsukawa knows better. Iwaizumi has never been a good liar, which means he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. Matsukawa understands his friend well enough to know that this wasn’t out of impulse or pity, even if he himself doesn’t realize it yet.

“Hey Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki speaks up, elbowing him in the arm and pointing his chin in Oikawa’s direction. “Looks like our friend there needs a little help.”

The three of them turn their attention towards the Aoba Johsai successor to witness how he’s haranguing to the uniformed young lady while trying to keep his frustration in check, jabbing at the coupon on the counter. The troubled look on her face doesn’t go unnoticed.

Iwaizumi exhales sharply and proceeds to stride over to Oikawa, wondering why the hell he’s so problematic.

He stands beside Oikawa and shoots him a glare. “Why are you taking so long?”

“Iwa-chan, this coupon is useless!” he complains, peeved that he was given a dud. If Iwaizumi hadn’t stepped in, he would bought the damn popcorn without it. Who uses coupons anyway?! (A lot of people apparently.)

“You can use it,” the lady corrects. “But not for the combos with movie merchandise.”

“Okay, then we’ll just get the normal combo,” Iwaizumi tells her. It seemed like an easy problem to solve, and they don’t even want movie merchandise. What exactly was preventing Oikawa from getting some popcorn? Iwaizumi gives him a weird look, “What the hell Oikawa?”

He slants his eyes away from him, acting like it wasn’t his fault and pretending this isn’t embarrassing.

“Understood,” she says. “Which popcorn flavour would you like?”

Oikawa immediately perks up. “What flavours do you have?”

If Iwaizumi wasn’t exasperated, he is now.

And if the popcorn lady wasn’t impatient, she is now.

“Sir, there’s only sweet or salty.”

“Oh.”

At the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi spots his friends snickering, tickled that Oikawa had to even ask what popcorn flavours there are at a cinema. For all the confidence and sophistication he exudes, he’s actually pretty dumb isn’t he? Iwaizumi’s too unimpressed to find this funny. What reality was this guy living in?

“Mixed,” he says, sharing a deadpanned look with the counter lady.

“You can mix them?”

This time, Iwaizumi hears the laughter before he sees it. Hanamaki holds his side as he barks out a laugh and Matsukawa doesn’t bother hiding his huge snigger. Apparently, witnessing the bourgeoisie being a disaster while navigating the commoners’ lifestyle is their brand of humour. Iwaizumi hastily collects their popcorn and drags Oikawa away before he can continue to embarrass him purely by association.

The movie ended up being a disappointment, with its monotonous plot line and banal characters even though the acting was authentic and the fight scenes were fun to watch. It didn’t seem like it was Oikawa’s cup of tea but when Iwaizumi snuck a furtive glance at him during the movie, his eyes were glued to the screen, fingers slipping popcorn after popcorn into his mouth. He doesn’t spare another glance at him for the rest of the movie after that.

Despite the second-rate movie, their night was considerably better when Matsukawa suggested having ramen for dinner. They take Oikawa to their usual stall in the alleys of Okubo, a fairly large traditional-looking place that welcomes them with a red cloth sign and chocin lanterns. These sort of restaurants were not unfamiliar to Oikawa, but up till now, they’ve only been passing sights as he’s driven around the city.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa have a field day with Oikawa, teasing him about his cluelessness despite his contrasting exterior and making it their mission to teach him the ways of the peasant world, although more often than not, it involves them asking him how he usually does things and then laughing about it. Oikawa has to agree with them sometimes, because who the hell cares how you arrange your cutlery to indicate if you’re done or if the food sucks? Why are there so many ways to tie a tie?

Compared to the people who embrace the privilege of adhering to countless of formalities when truthfully, it’s just a chore, Oikawa finds this – the carefree and easy-going ways – a much appreciated breath of fresh air. His companions tease him mercilessly, but they are not rude or snide. They make him order drinks for everyone so that they can watch him fumble with it, but they don’t make him pay.

There is no talk about business, or politics, or what his aspirations are when he graduates. They don’t ask about his family background, and not once did Oikawa get asked to accompany them to one of Aoba Johsai’s retail stores. Instead, they chat about the movie, about the top places to eat on campus (an ongoing list initiated by Matsukawa, compiled by Hanamaki, and endorsed by Iwaizumi), about the latest episode of Terrace House, and their part-time jobs.

They still laugh at him, but when Hanamaki and Matsukawa split to run their own errands, it’s not without the promise of another hang-out. Oikawa finds himself full from a hearty dinner and good company. He walks with a lightness in his step, thinking that meeting them again doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

“You know Hanamaki and Matsukawa are just playing around right?” Iwaizumi says, wanting to make sure that they didn’t go overboard with Oikawa.

He had separated from his friends to head to the train station, and Oikawa had offered to walk with him. Toyama Park’s on the way to the station anyway, where he had told his driver to pick him up from. He hadn’t asked Iwaizumi to wait with him, but the dark-haired student didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to go their separate ways for the night.

“Of course!” Oikawa exclaims, a little too loudly in the empty park. “What, you thought I thought they were bullying me? Do you think I’m that sensitive?”

Iwaizumi suddenly feels silly for worrying.

“Do you really want me to answer that,” is his placid reply.

Oikawa purses his lips at him.

“You’re so rude,” he says in mock petulance. He glances at Iwaizumi and catches his mirth in a barely-there smile. Tonight was a delight not only because of the company, but because he got to see different sides of Iwa-chan. Apparently, he blushes easily and it would appear that no one escapes from the duo’s antics. Stepping over a dislodged tile, he adds, “But really, I enjoyed tonight.”

With the way he says it, sincere and with a twinge of shyness, Iwaizumi finally admits to himself that Oikawa may be a rich boy, but he’s a rich boy who has more to him than Iwaizumi knows. If he’s interested in learning more about him, he doesn’t show it.

“See? Movie and ramen. Simple way to have fun,” he remarks coolly. “No disrupting the neighbourhood peace, no getting drunk in front of people’s houses.”

Oikawa shoots him a pointed look.

“You’ll never let me live that down, won’t you,” he says.

“Hmmm,” Iwaizumi pretends to ponder. “I don’t think I will.”

He grins at him and ignores his sounds of protest. They pass by a vending machine, having strolled along the road where Oikawa is expecting his driver. Iwaizumi stops to get himself a warm can of coffee to combat the chill. It drops to the opening noisily and Iwaizumi welcomes the heat that seeps into his fingertips.

It’s for himself, because he remembers that Oikawa only drinks artisanal coffee, but for some inexplicable reason, he asks him anyway.

“I don’t suppose you want one?”

The question catches Oikawa by surprise. He would have been fine without it, but since Iwaizumi had offered…arm outstretched with a hesitant look on his face, perhaps there’s no harm in trying. The night is cold after all.

“No I’ll take it,” he says quietly, and accepts it from Iwaizumi’s warm hands.

They stroll deeper into the park after Iwaizumi buys himself another can, but still keep the roadside in sight. The dim light from the street lamps cast twin shadows on the pavement. It’s quiet save for the rustle of leaves and the intermittent passing-by of a car. Oikawa hadn’t realized it had gotten this late.

He takes a tentative sip of his coffee. It’s a long shot from what he normally enjoys, lacking in flavour and aroma, but it pools into a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Iwaizumi is nursing his own can, one hand in his jacket pocket. They stop at the railing that overlooks the children’s playground below. Expectedly, there no kids there, just empty swings and remnants of an afternoon of untroubled playtime.

“You know it’s been a while since I did something like this,” Oikawa starts, resting his elbows against the railing. He faces Iwaizumi, for once believing himself when he tells him, “It was really fun. Thanks Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa is rarely anything but lively or dramatic and now that he’s actually bashful, Iwaizumi is caught off guard. So even he can make such faces – shy and humbled – sometimes. Being the recipient of it puts a light blush on his cheeks, obscured by the night. He looks away and doesn’t say anything about how it’s dreadfully normal to watch movies and have dinner with your friends. It does however, make him wonder how popular and eligible Oikawa Tooru could be lacking in such ordinary experiences.

“You don’t go out with friends much?” he dares to ask.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean the shitty friends I have?” Oikawa jests. When Iwaizumi whips up to look at him with an expression that’s nearly guilty, the taller of them laughs merrily, dismissive of his self-deprecating joke.

Iwaizumi’s blush darkens. For a second, he thought his brusque comment, uttered what seems like eons ago, had come to bite him in the ass.

“I studied abroad up until middle school,” Oikawa explains, his laugh fading into a smile. “I didn’t really keep in contact with my international friends, being the only Asian kid. And I lost touch with my high school friends.”

He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s a hint of wistfulness, like he recognizes the missed chances in that part of his life.

“You studied abroad huh,” Iwaizumi repeats, intrigued. “Where?”

“America.”

He whistles. “I’ve never travelled out of Japan before,” he confesses offhandedly.

“What?!” comes Oikawa’s voice ringing into the peaceful night. He stares hardly at Iwaizumi, who takes an unconcerned sip of his coffee. “You’ve never been out of Japan your whole life?!”

“Yeah,” he replies, wondering why it’s a big deal. He understands it means he’s never had the opportunity to experience an overseas holiday, but it’s a luxury he can’t afford. “The furthest I’ve been to is Okinawa. And that was for a high school trip.”

Oikawa lets out a melodramatic sigh. “You are missing out on the world Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “No shit, Mr. I’ve-been-to-every-country-in-the-world.”

The Business major turns to him with a cute frown. “That’s a little unrealistic. So, where do you want to go when you get to travel out of Japan?”

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi answers, casting his eyes downwards at the playground, growing thoughtful. “Anywhere would be nice really.”

Even to nearby Taiwan. Or tiny Singapore. He doesn’t dare think about visiting America or Europe. He’ll keep his dream small for now. But he will travel someday, he’ll take his parents on a holiday or maybe a special someone.

“I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid,” Oikawa tells him out of the blue.

Iwaizumi gives him a weird look. Where had that come from?

“What?” Oikawa says embarrassedly. Iwa-chan was being too silent and pensive for the both of them that he found the need to diffuse the atmosphere. “I thought we were telling each other our secrets. I mean, since we’re being honest…”

Oh, Iwaizumi figures out that this is Oikawa’s way of being considerate. And an astronaut? Why did he not find that unexpected? What a dork.

“I mean, it’s not really a secret,” he trails off.

“You or me?”

“Me,” Iwaizumi clarifies. “But what you said didn’t surprise me either.”

“Really?”

Did Iwa-chan think he was suited to be an astronaut?

“Yeah,” he responds, studying Oikawa’s intrigued expression. “Considering how enthusiastic you are about astronomy, especially when it’s just an elective, it makes sense that you’d have a childhood dream like that.”

Unbeknownst to Iwaizumi, it was not _just_ an elective to Oikawa. It was far from it. It’s a form of escapism from the expectations his family put on him. Being the son of a prominent figure in the industry and a woman who has been nothing but strict with his upbringing has forced him to search for ways where we can truly be himself. But that’s his burden to carry, and he doesn’t feel like ruining tonight with such dreary reminders.

“You don’t think it’s uncool?” he asks hesitantly, turning the coffee can in his hands.

“Why would I?” Iwaizumi tilts his head at him.

“Because it’s so… _nerdy_ ,” Oikawa answers, nose scrunching as he articulates the last word in distaste.

Hearing his ridiculously self-conscious reply makes Iwaizumi chuckle, so effortless that Oikawa’s chest tightens. He quirks an amused brow at him, “You seriously need to stop caring so much about what other people think. You like it right?”

Out of all the things that have surprised him tonight – from the new friends he made to the warmth of the canned coffee – it’s these four words that surprise him the most.

Iwaizumi is always two steps ahead of him, stopping to look back at him with a challenge in his eyes and a chiding tone in his voice – all of which he does not unkindly. All his life he had to conform to what people thought was best for him, but here was Iwa-chan, basically telling him to fuck them.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I like it.”

“Then screw what people think,” Iwaizumi says easily. “Don’t let them give you shit for enjoying something you like.”

It’s admirable how Iwaizumi can live so freely. Oikawa wants _(oh how he yearns)_ to do the same – to stop lying, let everything go, and chase his dreams – but he’s reminded of a stern voice, of an organisation he has an obligation to, of past lessons learnt, and suddenly he can feel the weight of his chains again.

He smiles wryly and says above a whisper, “Easier said than done, Iwa-chan.”

“Huh?”

“I said I’m looking forward to the next one, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa lies, burying his fears for tonight.

“Next what?”

“Next hang-out silly,” he smiles, because even if he has his own secrets to keep, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s been the longest time since he had fun like this, and that Iwa-chan – brusque, mean, adorable Iwa-chan – is someone he wants to keep seeing.

“That’s a rare genuine smile,” Iwaizumi points out, pleasantly surprised.

“What do you mean?” Oikawa feigns ignorance. “My smiles are all genuine.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “Who are you kidding.”

“They are!” he insists, tugging on Iwaizumi’s jacket sleeve.

“Okay, okay, _bocchan_ ,” he teases. He reaches up, intending to pinch Oikawa’s nose, but the sound of a car rolling to a stop nearby catches both their attention.

“Oh, that’s me,” Oikawa tells him almost disappointedly. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, and watches him cross the park to slide into the Mercedes.

* * *

Oikawa realizes he’s still holding on to the can of coffee as his driver takes them back. There’s the tiniest of smiles on his face as he gazes out of the window, watching stripes of orange lights dye the streets.

“Tooru-kun?” his driver calls, peering at him through the rear-view mirror. “Is that canned coffee? I thought you didn’t drink this sort of stuff.”

It’s gone cold, and it’s Oikawa’s hands that are warm now. He shrugs.

“Just wanted to try something new.”

* * *

By the time Oikawa reaches home, it’s almost midnight. Time really passes in a flash when you’re enjoying yourself. He’s ready to take a hot shower, snuggle into his sheets, and be dead to the world. As he trudges up the stairs, Oikawa stretches out the soreness in his muscles and yawns.

“Tooru.”

At the sound of that voice, his shoulders stiffen. Turning around, he sees his mother standing at the top of the staircase, clad in a long silk sleeping robe decorated with spider lilies. She must have come out from the bedroom, where she was probably waiting for him after finding out that their driver was called to pick him up. Her hair is not in its usual up-do, loose curls hanging below her shoulders instead, and her arms are folded, elbows in each of her delicate palm.

“Mother,” he says his greetings dutifully. “I’m back.”

“Welcome back,” she replies and fixes her son with an impassive stare. “Where have you been?”

“I was out with friends,” he tells her. She’s not angry, but her tall, commanding figure looms over him and he’s beginning to feel the familiar sense of guilt he gets when she looks at him like that.

“From your faculty?” she questions.

“No, they’re from different faculties,” he answers, curling his toes in the steps. When she doesn’t respond, Oikawa knows she’s waiting for an elaboration. She’s always been invested in the company he associates himself with. “From the investment club,” he lies through his teeth, knowing that she won’t settle for anything less than that.

“I see. It’s late.”

Years of reading between the lines of what his mother says has taught him that she doesn’t deem his explanation satisfactory.

“We went to catch a movie,” he continues, scraping the wooden banister with blunt nails. “And had dinner.”

“Hm.” It seems to placate her for now. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Okay.”

He continues up the stairs and brushes past his mother carefully, eager to retreat to the comfort of his room until—

“And Tooru.”

Her voice cuts through the air and Oikawa snaps to attention again, facing her cautiously.

“Yes?”

“Remember you have your piano recital coming up,” she reminds, her dark brown eyes a warning that he best put all his effort and more into perfecting it. “Don’t forget that you’ll be having lessons on Wednesdays too.”

Ah. How could he have forgotten? He should have known his mother would not let him forget.

He thinks about the next time Iwa-chan or Matsukawa and Hanamaki ask him to hang out again, and how he’d have to say _‘sorry! I have piano classes!’_ with a smile plastered on his face like that’s something he ever looked forward to. It tastes bitter.

“Yes mother.”

It’s only when she leaves that his shoulders finally relax.

* * *

Just when one assignment is done and dusted, another one comes to consume Iwaizumi’s whittling spare time. It’s for one of his core modules now, so he doesn’t have a choice but to do it seriously. It’s not like he has a partner who’s eager enough for a whole team that he can rely on. So given that it’s an individual assignment that comprises 15% of his grade, Iwaizumi is currently picking out reference books in the library to pore over and make up for the times he spent dozing off in class.

He has three books stacked in his arms (he probably only has time for one, two if he’s being ambitious and all three if he doesn’t sleep) as he heads to the counter to check them out. At this hour (a quarter past five in the afternoon), the library is still filled with throngs of students scouring intently at their notes and laptops. Most of them are in study groups or pairs, but Iwaizumi catches sight of one lone student sitting at the smaller tables lined against the walls.

There’s no way he could miss him, with his perfectly coiffed brown hair and the trademark twist of his mouth when he’s in deep thought. Today, he’s also wearing glasses, half-rim ones perched on top of his nose. The idea that he looks cute wearing them is a fleeting one, and Iwaizumi doesn’t chase it.

What he does instead is amble towards him. He’s never seen Oikawa at the library alone before, and he had the impression Oikawa doesn’t visit it often. He’s smart, but didn’t strike him as the studious type (at least not for anything that isn’t astronomy-related).

“Hey,” he calls out when he stops at the edge of the table. The bespectacled student was so absorbed in his notes that he hadn’t noticed someone approaching and startles a little at the greeting. When he recognizes his unexpected visitor, his hazel eyes go bright behind the lens.

“Iwa-chan!” he remembers to whisper.

“What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi asks curiously.

“Studying?” Oikawa answers it like a question, because isn’t it obvious? What else would a university student do in a library alone?

Iwaizumi’s eyebrow quirks in response. “You study?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Oikawa shoots back instead, suspecting that a mocking remark is coming his way. Probably something about how rich kids don’t need to study or the like. “I’m a student with grades to pass and essays to hand in.”

The Engineering major brushes off his matter-of-fact tone. “I thought you were one of those people who gets A’s without having to study,” he clarifies.

“Hah,” Oikawa laughs humourlessly. “I’m not a genius.”

He doesn’t bother masking the bitterness in his voice and Iwaizumi picks up on it instantly. It sounds like himself when he admits that he doesn’t have the money to get his hands on a Kawasaki. But he knows it’s not that simple for Oikawa. It sounds like he has tried, but resigned to the fact that there are some things you can’t have, and some things you’ll never be.

It gets Iwaizumi pondering over why Oikawa is here, not in this library on a cool weekday afternoon, but here in mid-tier Hosei, mingling with middle-class folks. Hosei’s not a bad university, but kids with wealthy or influential parents have wider choices than most, so why had Oikawa chosen this school? Was he here out of his own volition or because of something out of his control? It was hard to imagine that even with the sheer amount of resources the Oikawas have, there are still some things that escape them.

Iwaizumi sets his books down on the table and pulls out a seat across from Oikawa, inciting curious blinks from him.

“I was wondering,” he begins slowly, deciding to probe anyway because it’ll definitely keep him up at night and he already has a lack of sleep as it is. “Why’d you choose Hosei? I mean, not to be rude, but you probably can get into a better university.”

The line of questioning must have been unexpected, as Oikawa’s lips part in quiet surprise. He tries to find some sort of taunt or trap in there, but Iwa-chan is really just asking.

“Technically, I can,” Oikawa inhales. With his father’s stature and connections, getting into Todai or Waseda would be a piece of cake, even without making the cut grades-wise. Their family had built a sportswear empire, universities would scramble for a sponsorship from them. “And obviously my parents thought I would want to go to Todai or whatever.”

He locks eyes with Iwaizumi, who’s listening intently, still no ill will in them.

“But I’ve been told what to do since I was young you know,” he tells him regretfully. He caps and uncaps his pen in distraction. “Like how I should take piano classes, or how I should learn how to say what I mean but not mean what I say, or learn a thing or two from Tobio-chan. And it’s just… _so annoying_. So before I graduated high school, I told my mother to let me choose one thing – my university of choice.”

He hasn’t answered Iwaizumi’s question yet, but he’s getting there.

“I did my research and I chose Hosei…because they had one of the best astronomy programmes in Tokyo,” he finishes sheepishly. He wets his lips and exhales. Come to think of it, this is the first time he’s divulged this truth to someone. It doesn’t change anything, but it makes him breathe easy.

“You’re not taking an astronomy programme though,” Iwaizumi points out factually.

Oikawa purses his lips. “She let me choose the school,” he says, averting his gaze. “But it has always been decided from the start that I would take the Business programme.”

So much for choices.

“That’s why you’re taking the elective,” Iwaizumi says out loud.

Oikawa nods. “I thought if I could at least take a course about it, it’s not so bad.”

It’s a pitiable attempt at be closer to what he truly wants, but it’s a small comfort if nothing else. Iwaizumi understands that much; it’s like how he settles for his old Honda scooter. While he appreciates that Oikawa is willing to tell him all this, he doesn’t forget that he’s the one who led the conversation down this path and he’ll be damned if he leaves Oikawa feeling sorry for himself.

“You know, we haven’t celebrated the A we got for our assignment,” he brings up, hoping to end this exchange on a positive note.

“Ohhh yes,” Oikawa immediately perks up, a smile returning to his face at the thought of a well-earned A. They had recently got their pair work graded and with his deep knowledge of the Fermi Paradox and report-writing prowess, naturally their assignment was one of the best in class. “How would you like to repay me Iwa-chan?”

“It was a paired assignment,” Iwaizumi reminds him with an innocuous sneer, part relieved that Oikawa is back to his cheeky, insufferable self.

“For which I did most of the work,” Oikawa cleverly retorts and Iwaizumi cannot refute that.

“Fine,” he relents, gathering his books to himself. “But I won’t treat you to anything fancy.”

“Of course Iwa-chan,” he lilts and sits up when Iwaizumi stands to take his leave. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I have work after this,” he says and continues after catching his disappointed expression, “I’ll text you?”

“Okay,” Oikawa answers in a little voice, barely containing the smile that threatens to appear.

When Iwaizumi heads off with his errands, Oikawa lets the smile stretch out, bowing his head to hide it. Another date with Iwa-chan…he’s looking forward to it very much. Well, it’s not exactly a date – they’re not dating or anything. But then again, it’ll just be the two of them so—

“Oikawa,” someone interrupts his train of thought rudely.

He glances up quickly and narrows his eyes when he recognizes his uninvited guest.

“Daishou-san,” he addresses perfunctorily as he takes the seat that Iwaizumi just vacated. Daishou Suguru is no stranger to Oikawa, but they’re not exactly friends either.

The heir to Nohebi Ventures, a venture capital that invests in sports tech companies, is a fellow Business major in Oikawa’s faculty. They’ve heard of each other before, being giants in their own industries, and their families have met during the times Oikawa was made to attend business functions and networking events. Oikawa suspected that their mothers are even acquainted, and he’s thankful that hasn’t been forced to fraternize with the Nohebi heir.

Daishou is exceptional at what he does, well-versed in the world of sports tech investment and having the kind of influence that enraptures people and makes them so agreeable. Unlike Oikawa, he’s all ready to take the helm in his family’s business.

Oikawa has seen him in action, and while he admits that Daishou has a way with people, he sees through his veneer of smooth talk and deceivingly charming smiles. After all, Oikawa recognizes a little bit of himself in that. But he’ll be damned if he’s ever that slimy. Daishou has a reputation, and it’s not squeaky clean.

“S’that your friend?” he queries, pointing his chin towards Iwaizumi’s retreating figure.

A sense of dread fills Oikawa’s lungs, but he keeps a neutral tone when he answers, “We just have a class together.”

Daishou hums thoughtfully, and it’s clear to Oikawa that he isn’t buying the moderated act he’s putting up. True enough, the slanted-eyed student shifts in his seat to lean against the table and says, “I was sitting over there and I couldn’t help but notice that you two looked really chummy with each other.”

He’d like to think it’s his keen observational skills that led to that conclusion, that he could detect the hint of affection or attraction or casual flirting dancing in the space between them, but anyone with eyes can tell that there’s something going on.

“What’s it to you?” Oikawa retorts, mouth set in a hard line. Is Daishou Suguru of all people going to tell him what he can or cannot do now?

“Nothing,” Daishou breezes, pretending to be defensive to make it seem like Oikawa was overreacting. He maintains a laidback tone when he adds, “You know how people like to keep tabs on your circle of friends.”

As if he needed a reminder. “By ‘people’, do you mean my mother?” Oikawa cuts straight to the point, tired of whatever charade he’s playing. With an air of finality, he tells him, “Like you said, we’re friends.”

“So you say,” Daishou starts off with a glint in his eyes, like he’s got his prey in sight. “But I’ve never seen you smile like that for anyone before.”

Granted, he’s never had that much interaction with Oikawa in the first place, but he has a hunch it’s not a common look on Oikawa Tooru. A triumphant smile graces his polished features when Oikawa realizes he’s been caught.

But any indication of fear vanishes from his eyes in a split second because what was he caught for? Enjoying himself in the company of a good friend? Whoever said that it was a crime? Why’d he have to hide it?

“So what?” Oikawa asks calmly, russet eyes growing dark with defiance and locked with Daishou's. “Are you going to rat me out?”

A beat of silence passes before the dark-haired student waves off Oikawa’s challenge flippantly. “No, just looking out for a fellow schoolmate. I’m sure you’ll be smart about this.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa grits out, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Aware that his time is up, Daishou stands to leave, but not without some final parting words. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It had been surprising to see Oikawa act that way with someone else, when he’s renowned for his gregarious and people-pleasing demeanour, but Oikawa’s reaction made it all the more interesting.

The bespectacled student is left stewing in frustration, previously happy mood now sour. Just when he’s having a good time and has something to look forward to, something comes along to put him in his place, to once again remind him that there are lines he shouldn’t cross.

But who makes these rules anyway?

His mother’s face flashes across his mind and Oikawa bites his lip angrily. Why is the shadow of her daunting figure always controlling his life? And why is he letting it?

A buzz from his phone breaks him out of his reverie. A notification pops up on the screen and his ire dissipates into a crease between his eyebrows when he picks up his phone to read the incoming messages.

> _Iwa-chan: hey  
> _ _Iwa-chan: the fall festival’s happening this weekend  
> _ _Iwa-chan: you wanna go?_

Oikawa, in a rebellious mood, accepts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhh, no omake this time. Didn’t have inspiration for any so I didn’t want to force it. I thought of writing the driver scene as an omake, but it felt more poignant to include it in the main story. And yeah, I get the irony of Oikawa studying in America instead of Iwa; I wrote this before c395!
> 
> I know official art has Oikawa portrayed as someone with an atrocious fashion sense, but for the sake of this story, let’s all pretend he’s not.
> 
> And dammit if we don’t all need an iwa-chan in our lives.


	4. silk vs. cotton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been addressing driver-san by his occupation. What if…like…I made Mizoguchi Oikawa’s driver lol.

“Have fun Tooru-kun!” his driver chirps.

“Thank you,” Oikawa answers with a nervous smile and gathers the hem of his clothes to hop out of the car. He’s already garnered several people’s attention the moment he steps onto the streets, heads turning to marvel at his appearance with the Mercedes driving out of their peripheral vision.

With the way he’s dressed tonight, it’s no wonder.

Oikawa’s used to the attention, unbothered by the girls giggling excitedly behind their hands. He’s supposed to meet Iwa-chan at the avenue that leads to the festival streets and he’s already slightly tardy. Getting dressed had taken a bit of time.

He scans the area as he walks, searching for the familiar head of spiky hair and finally spots his companion for the night up ahead. Iwa-chan is half-sitting on the railing by the roadside with one foot propped against the lower rails, scrolling through his phone while he waits.

Oikawa’s heart races in excitement and he picks up his pace. He doesn’t call out to Iwaizumi yet, but the Engineering major looks up even before he reaches him. When his eyes land on Oikawa, they go wide in surprise, and his mouth parts slowly. It makes Oikawa’s chest thrum in nervous delight.

“Hi Iwa-chan,” he greets with an easy smile.

“You look…” Iwaizumi seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, eyes travelling up and down Oikawa’s tall frame to take in his traditional and elegant appearance. “Nice.”

A compliment from Iwa-chan from the onset. Oikawa thinks he must have outdone himself this time.

“You invited me to a festival,” he points out happily. “Of course I’ll turn up in a kimono!”

But it isn’t _any_ kimono. Oikawa is clad in a beautifully-designed teal kimono and Iwaizumi would bet that it’s real silk. The teal-coloured fabric hides a white inner robe, and is wrapped snugly around Oikawa’s well-built figure. The top half of his kimono, from the collar down to the knee area is mostly unpatterned, but the dark colour dips into an intricate embroidery of pine, bamboo, and plum blossoms, a motif that Iwaizumi isn’t cultured enough to understand.

Sitting on top of his kimono is a black haori, the pattern that embellishes the bottom of its long sleeves matching that of his kimono. It’s secured with a haori string and reaches way below a dark-coloured obi that circles his waist.

Honestly, Oikawa’s a little overdressed for today’s occasion and Iwaizumi can lie about not being stressed with school and work, he can lie about having enough money to cover his expenses, but he cannot lie that Oikawa looks undeniably mesmerizing tonight.

Nice was selling him short.

Cross his heart, he wanted to be more articulate than that, but the sudden sight of Oikawa had stolen all the words from his mouth.

“Come on Iwa-chan,” Oikawa urges, leading them to where the crowd was headed.

“Okay okay, don’t pull my jacket,” he says, falling in step beside Oikawa.

Before they even reach the lantern-filled festival streets, his partner has already amassed countless of awestruck stares and twittering whispers. There are not many people dressed in traditional attire, given that it’s approaching winter and they tended to rely on warmer clothes. So naturally, Oikawa stood out more. While it deals Iwaizumi a great amount of discomfort (even though the attention is not directed at him), Oikawa seems to be in his element.

When the endless rows of food and game stalls eventually welcome them, Iwaizumi hears Oikawa gasp in wonderment. The street is brightly lit with colourful lanterns and fluorescent bulbs, the cacophony of loud chatter and yells of cheap delicacies ringing throughout the cold night. Beside him, Iwaizumi watches amazement reflect in Oikawa’s shining eyes. Has this guy not been to a festival before?

“What should we try first?” Oikawa asks him, practically brimming with excitement.

“Are you hungry?”

Oikawa nods vigorously. Fortunately, his mother had a dinner appointment today and made it easy for Oikawa to tell his housekeeper not to prepare anything for him, which means he only had a light snack before coming to meet Iwa-chan.

Iwaizumi leads him through the throngs of people, seemingly searching for something. Oikawa follows him until they reach a food stall, the enticing smell of okonomiyaki wafting towards them. The chef working behind the grill flips the ingredient-rich pancakes deftly and Oikawa watches in rapt attention as Iwaizumi orders two for them.

He turns in time to see his companion reaching for his wallet and Oikawa settles a hand on his elbow.

“I’ll pay,” he offers, digging into his haori to fish out a thousand yen note. He chuckles at the frown Iwaizumi pulls. “I want to. Let me treat you this time Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi hesitates for a while but concedes anyway. Besides, Oikawa looks more than happy to do so. He pays the chef’s helper with a pleasant smile and drops the change in the pocket of his haori. _His haori has pockets_ , Iwaizumi thinks impressively. No wonder he wasn’t carrying anything in his hands.

Their okonomiyaki (pork for Iwaizumi and seafood for Oikawa) is served in a jiffy and Oikawa stretches out eager hands to take it from the stall helper, oblivious to how his haori sleeves hang precariously low towards the open grill. Iwaizumi reaches out to gather them before they can be damaged, the smooth fabric pooling in his palms and almost slipping through his fingers.

“Watch your sleeves,” he merely says when Oikawa regards him with a puzzled expression, and lets the silk fall.

“Oh,” he says, lifting his arms to check on his sleeves, still in its pristine condition of course. “Thanks Iwa-chan! Here.”

Iwaizumi gladly accepts his share of the okonomiyaki. He hasn’t had dinner and is hungry too.

“I didn’t know Iwa-chan could be such a gentleman,” Oikawa teases over a mouthful of grilled pancake as they make their way down the festival street, no particular destination in mind.

“It’s expensive isn’t it,” Iwaizumi states. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.”

“You’re right. I would have to take it back to the tailor if it’s spoiled,” Oikawa explains. “It’s custom-made!”

“I’ll bet.”

“You like it?” he asks with glimmering eyes, then stops to face Iwaizumi, lifting both his arms to show off his traditional attire. It flutters elegantly in the November chill.

“Yeah,” he humours him, but means it. Contrary to Oikawa, he was dressed in normal streetwear, a simple cotton sweater, jeans, and his usual jacket. He hadn’t expected Oikawa to turn up in a kimono and despite the unwanted stares coming their way, he appreciated the fact that he made the effort to dress up.

Oikawa appears to be thoroughly thrilled by that one word.

“Why didn’t you wear a kimono?” he asks inquisitively. He hardly has the opportunity to wear one, especially in these casual settings, and they’re such beautiful clothing that he’d be overjoyed to put one on if he could. He’s very satisfied with his bespoke kimono, all the more so with the pockets that he had specially requested. It’s proven to be extremely handy now that his hands are occupied with to-go food.

“I don’t have one,” Iwaizumi replies. Any kimono he owned he had outgrown. “Don’t have a need for one anyway.”

“Hmm,” Oikawa hums, almost half-done with his first dish of the evening. “I think you’d look good in a jinbei. You should wear one next time.”

He imagines Iwa-chan in the two-piece attire, its stitched short sleeves showing off his forearms. He’d look boyish in it, but his muscles are anything but.

Iwaizumi’s laugh interrupts his thoughts. “Only if the great Oikawa- _bocchan_ gifts one to me.”

“Ohhh be careful what you wish for Iwa-chan.”

* * *

“Two yakitori skewers please,” Iwaizumi orders, barely registering the _‘I’ll be right back’_ from Oikawa.

He has to pay for them this time because Oikawa is nowhere to be found and for Christ’s sake, if he lost him now, he’ll ditch him for the rest of the night. With two skewers in hand and no sign of Oikawa, Iwaizumi inhales.

“Iwa-chan.”

He whirls around to face the source of his impending headaches.

“Where did you go?” he demands, thrusting the yakitori at him and noticing the kitsune mask resting on the side of Oikawa’s head. “Did you just get that?”

“Yeap!” he trills. “Cute right?”

Firstly, he’s not even wearing it properly. Secondly, it seems too small to be worn on his face and it’s probably because it’s a kid-sized mask. Oikawa surely bought it purpose just so he could wear it at the side without messing up his perfect hair and be cute.

“I got one for you too,” he announces with the cheekiest smile he can manage and presents a kid-sized oni mask to Iwaizumi, its bright red face and stubby nose leering at him.

He swipes it from Oikawa and hurls it in his face.

“Don’t waste money dumbass!”

* * *

“Young man!” a middle-aged lady calls out as she waves a handheld folding fan zealously to catch Oikawa’s attention. “Would a handsome young man like you be interested in some traditional fans?”

Oikawa, feeling rather amenable tonight, lets his legs take him to the stall where fans of various colours and designs are on display. The lady smiles deviously, recognizing a naïve customer with deep pockets when she sees one.

“Come, come!” she urges, immediately pulling out several fans to show Oikawa. “Might I suggest this navy blue one? It will go very with your lovely kimono! Or perhaps a golden one to bring out the colour of your eyes?”

Well aware that she’s simply currying his favour, Oikawa smiles politely. He’s in a generous mood anyway, so he asks, “How much for it?”

“Only three thousand yen!” she says smugly.

“Only?!” Iwaizumi balks and tugs Oikawa away by the arm before he can be stupid about it. “Let’s go.”

“Wha—why?!” he exclaims, a petulant pout forming on his face.

“She’s obviously ripping you off,” he tells him in mild exasperation. All these opportunistic stall owners would, after noticing how well-dressed he is in his bespoke silk kimono.

“But Iwa-chan, I want one,” he insists, gazing at him with doleful eyes.

As if Iwaizumi could resist those hazel orbs when they’re so hopeful and god damn manipulative. With a growl, he turns on his heels to pin fan lady with a hard stare.

“One thousand yen.”

His sudden initiation of a haggling battle startles her, but she counters with a “Two thousand five hundred.”

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s wrist and stalks away.

“Okay okay! Two thousand yen! It’s a good deal!”

He highly doubts a common folding fan costs that much in a festival like this. Such souvenir shops are a dime a dozen here. He can easily take his business elsewhere. Fan lady honestly doesn’t have much of a bargaining chip.

“One thousand two.”

“One thousand five.”

“Deal.”

When Oikawa tucks his newly-purchased navy blue folding fan into the folds of his kimono, Iwaizumi declares triumphantly, “And that’s how not to get ripped off.”

He’s not sure which is better, the crinkle in Oikawa’s eyes or having succeeded in a good old haggling session.

* * *

“Iwa-chan, I’m hungry.”

“Already?”

“Uh huh.” He points at something in the distance. “Can we get that?”

“Ikayaki?”

“Uh huh.”

“Fine, you’re paying right?”

* * *

The two friends are just done with their grilled squid when a couple of girls who look like they’re in high school approach them.

“Um…excuse me,” one of them murmurs shyly at Oikawa. She holds up her phone and asks, “Do you mind if we take a picture with you?”

“Oh!” the kimono-clad student says in pleasant surprise. “I don’t mind!”

The high school girls break into wide, eager smiles, elated that the courage they mustered to ask an attractive stranger for a picture was not rejected.

“Thank you!” they exclaim in unison.

“Iwa-chan, if you would be so kind,” Oikawa addresses his partner sweetly, who had been standing there, silently watching their exchange. He’s amazed that people would actually approach Oikawa for pictures. Yes, he looks good, but surely it’s nothing to be infatuated with.

“Huh? Me?”

“Yes, who else would help us take a picture?” Oikawa explains like he’s talking to a child. Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches dangerously.

One of the girls passes her phone to him with a polite bow.

A vein pulses in his forehead along with the twitchy eyebrow when Oikawa puts up a peace sign and flashes his camera-perfect smile at the phone.

* * *

“You’re not bad at this,” Iwaizumi admits with an impressed nod when Oikawa lands another ring around the bottle. That’s four out of five tosses that got in.

“I have good aim,” he says with a wink. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes in response.

Besides stuffing himself with street food, apparently he likes to throw money to the game stalls. Iwaizumi always had the notion that they were rigged, so he avoids them in general. But sometimes a natural like Oikawa Tooru comes along and wins prizes in the form of large animal plushies.

He gets handed a rather big and fluffy bunny, but before Iwaizumi can wonder how he’s going to carry that for the rest of the night, Oikawa turns to face a young girl beside him. She had been playing the ring toss game as well, but because of how small she is, none of the rings landed around the bottles, even though she had some help from her mother.

“Here you go,” he says to the girl, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he holds out the plushie to her.

Iwaizumi refrains from saying anything, biting back his own smile when the little girl jumps on the spot gleefully, darting large, round eyes at her mother to ask if it’s okay.

It definitely is, and Oikawa deposits the bunny into her grabby hands, telling her to take good care of it. He deliberately ignores Iwaizumi’s raised eyebrow and barely concealed smirk, claiming that it would be too bothersome to carry it around.

* * *

“Iwa-chan, I’m hungry.”

“Again?”

“Uh huh. Can we get that?”

“Tornado potato?”

“Uh huh. Do you want one too?”

“No, I’m full.”

“Even though you look like that?”

“I’ll hit you.”

* * *

“Say cheese…” Iwaizumi says in a deadpanned voice, mouth barely moving around the words.

“Cheese!” Oikawa sings out, throwing up a peace sign, his other hand holding a half-finished stick of tornado potato.

This time it’s a gaggle of them, all crowded around him and more than a head shorter than the celebrity wannabe. It’s like they’ve become bolder in approaching him for photos after knowing that he accepts requests from anyone who asks.

Iwaizumi returns the phone and Oikawa waves them goodbye like he just completed a fan-signing. (He might have; he’s only short of giving them his autograph.) Once the girls have left them with satisfied smiles, Iwaizumi shoots Oikawa a glare.

“I swear, if someone asks for a picture again…” he warns. It’s the third time that Iwaizumi is the designated photographer and he fears that it’s far from the last.

Oikawa appears unfazed by his threatening tone and instead teases, “Aw Iwa-chan, are you jealous that people don’t come up to you for photos?”

“As if.”

“You can take a picture with me if you want!” Oikawa suggests cheerily, already taking out his phone from his haori pocket.

“Pass.”

But once the thought has entered Oikawa’s mind, he seems adamant to follow through with it.

“Come on, let’s take a wefie!” he insists, shuffling to Iwaizumi’s side and holding his phone up to get a better angle. It proves to be a little challenging, with only one free hand and an uncooperative Iwaizumi. He shifts with an outstretched arm so that the screen captures their faces against an Instagram-worthy background but all he’s doing is to jostle Iwaizumi around.

“Excuse me,” someone from beside them says. It’s a young lady who looks about their age, accompanied by a guy who’s most likely her boyfriend. She regards Oikawa’s attempt to take a wefie with a sympathetic smile and offers, “Would you like me to help you take a picture?”

“Ah, sure!” Oikawa happily accepts, albeit a little surprised.

Since a stranger has offered, Iwaizumi sees no way to avoid it now. Awkwardly, he stands in place beside Oikawa, not sure where to put his hands, so he shoves them into his jacket pocket. The kimono-wearing student was still holding on to his tornado potato, but he doesn’t put up a peace sign this time. He tilts his head towards Iwaizumi, his lips playing into a small smile (and if Iwaizumi were to see this photo later, he’d notice that it’s warm and affectionate, but unaware of how it hides a sea of emotions), their shoulders brushing.

“Here you go,” the young lady says as she returns Oikawa’s phone.

“Thanks!”

She stays for a bit as Oikawa inspects the photo to check if anyone’s closing their eyes or there’s something unglamorous in the background. But they both look good and the camera was in portrait mode, which gives the background a professional blurry effect. Oikawa gives her a grateful nod.

“Your kimono is really beautiful,” she compliments.

“Oh, this old thing? It’s not much,” he replies modestly and Iwaizumi resists the urge to scoff.

The lady chuckles and heads back to her companion’s side, but before she goes on her way, she leaves them with parting words that would put a pleased smile on one and a fierce blush on the other.

“You two look very cute together. Have a good evening!”

Oikawa is already having a wonderful evening, and her comment only made it better. He’s practically buzzing with mirth underneath the grin he’s trying to keep from stretching across his face. Iwaizumi on the other hand, has trouble fighting down his blush, evident in the brightly lit festival streets.

“I think we look good together too Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sing-songs.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, cheeks aflame.

* * *

Iwaizumi learns that Oikawa has a bottomless pit for a stomach, as he chomps on his taiyaki heartily even after stuffing his face with so many different street food. He doesn’t have much affinity with the taiyaki though, for he trips over his own zori sandals a few bites into the fish-shaped delicacy and promptly drops it.

It hits the ground with a sad sound, the red bean paste spilling out of its missing head. Oikawa stares at it, stunned for a few seconds, before he faces Iwaizumi with droopy, russet eyes.

“Iwa-chan…” he says with a wobbly voice.

“Don’t be such a child,” Iwaizumi chides and picks up the wasted taiyaki with a napkin. “At least you got to eat half of it.”

“But I wanted to share it with you,” he pouts.

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi assures, wondering where his insistence to share comes from. Despite his princely act, he sure can be a messy eater sometimes. A stray crumb sticks to the side of Oikawa’s mouth, marring his refined and well-kept appearance, and Iwaizumi doesn’t think twice to reach out to swipe it away with the pad of his thumb.

He’s acutely aware of what he’s done when Oikawa blinks at him, those intense eyes seeking his out. But in lieu of an explanation, Iwaizumi says, “Let’s go. You wanted to visit the shrine right?” and that’s the end of that.

* * *

They say their prayers at the shrine that breaks off from the main festival streets but nonetheless visited by many of the festival-goers praying for well wishes. It’s at this time that Oikawa finally decides he needs to visit the restroom, even though it could be a risky game. But nature calls.

As with all shrines, omamoris for various situations in life were being sold. Iwaizumi, while waiting for Oikawa, overhears a girl telling her friend that she intends to buy an omamori for her dad who’s a taxi driver. After mulling for a bit, he settles with getting one too, but not for himself.

Oikawa re-emerges soon after Iwaizumi purchases a suitable omamori, and proves that it’s possible to look more attractive than he was before even though they’ve spent a good part of the evening manoeuvring crowds and eating hot, sticky foods. What complicated routine does he have in the restroom?

“Got this for you,” Iwaizumi tells him as they approach each other and holds out his hand.

“A present from stingy Iwa-chan?” Oikawa exclaims exaggeratedly.

“I’ll seriously hit you,” he threatens with no bite, dropping the gift into Oikawa’s palm.

“An omamori?” he wonders out loud, turning the item in his hand. He studies it carefully and as much as he’s glad that Iwaizumi got him something, a frown forms on his face. “Why does it say ‘traffic safety’? I don’t drive.”

“Actually, it’s for your driver,” Iwaizumi says coolly and grins. “Who has to chauffeur your whiny ass all day.”

“Wow.”

“I can take it back,” Iwaizumi remarks after receiving Oikawa’s flat stare. “Use it for myself.”

“I’ll take it!” Oikawa proclaims with huffed cheeks, snatching the omamori towards his chest defensively.

Trivial as it is, Iwaizumi basks in the triumph he gets from that.

* * *

“To reciprocate your gift, I’ll win you something!” Oikawa asserts with a determined expression when they’re on their way back to the main street, omamori tucked safely into his pocket.

“I think I’ll do a hard pass on that one.”

“Nope!” he frivolously brushes off Iwaizumi’s flat-out refusal because he’s thought of the perfect gift. And if frugal Iwa-chan gifted him something, there’s no way he couldn’t return the favour. “You’ll love the gift I have in mind for you.”

Iwaizumi has his doubts but follows Oikawa as he seeks out the game stalls, uncertain if the purposeful gleam in his eyes is something to be worried about. He stops in front of the shateki stall, toy rifles laid out in front, their muzzles pointed at the wall of targets. Oikawa exchanges three hundred yen for five tries, pulls up his haori sleeves to his elbows, positions the stock of the rifle at his shoulder (but not before giving Iwaizumi a wink) and proceeds to hit four bottles down right on target.

He was entitled to one of the better prizes, but Oikawa specifically asks for an item that he would have gotten if he shot down only one bottle (that show-off). Beaming proudly, he deposits the small prize into Iwaizumi’s hand.

“Do I want to know why you got me a dinosaur keychain?” the older of the two asks warily.

“It’s the closest thing they have to Godzilla here!” Oikawa answers like it’s obvious. He’d seen the bunch of dinosaur keychains hanging on display when they walked past the stall before, but hadn’t taken much note of it until the idea of getting Iwa-chan a present popped into his head. Needless to say, he remembers how much of a Godzilla fan Iwa-chan is and well, Godzilla was a dinosaur right? Pleased with himself, he asks, “You like it right?”

He can’t be certain if Oikawa was referring to the dinosaur or Godzilla, but it doesn’t matter either way. The dark grey dinosaur stares blankly at him with black, oval eyes, its mouth just one row of sharp teeth, two yellow circles painted on its cheeks and round body decorated with small arms and legs. It’s…cute.

And the fact that Oikawa chose to get him this because it somehow reminded him of Godzilla makes Iwaizumi’s heart clench.

“Yeah,” he grits out, trying to keep his voice neutral even though he’s tempted to launch the thing at Oikawa in a violent demonstration of affection. “I like it. Thanks.”

* * *

Later in their date (is it a date?), Iwaizumi and Oikawa find themselves seated atop a low brick wall, the former nursing a bottle of Ramune and the latter licking away at a shiny red candy apple, the shrubbery grazing their backs. They mind their food in relative silence, watching the people flit around the stalls, boyfriends winning prizes for their girlfriends, parents helping their children at a chance for one. The much-awaited fireworks are starting in half an hour, and the two friends reckon there’s enough time to rest a bit before they join the crowds again.

“Iwa-chan, switch with me,” Oikawa says quite out of the blue, sticking out his candy apple at the dark-haired boy.

“No.”

“But mine’s too sweet,” he complains.

“Don’t throw your leftovers to me!” Iwaizumi scolds, not hesitating to smack him in the back of the head, which Oikawa soothes.

“Always the violent one,” he remarks unperturbed, even though he would have retaliated if anyone dared to raise a hand at him. But he supposes Iwa-chan is an exception – he’s been an exception from the very first time they met, from his unexpected act of kindness to his brusque, forthright nature. And that’s the thing, somewhere along the line, he’s grown to think that this exception doesn’t have to be an anomaly that needs fixing, but a counter-weight to the predictability of his life.

He thinks to add, fully cognizant that Iwa-chan will never know how it stirs a storm in his chest, “But I always enjoy myself with you.”

“Are you a masochist?” he jokes.

“Who knows?” Oikawa says mysteriously, and wishes to convey a little bit of that storm in a few earnest words. “It’s true you know, I like hanging out together. I had a lot of fun today.”

Iwaizumi picks up on the sincerity in his tone and fumbles to reciprocate, instead playing it off lightly with an, “It’s just a festival.”

“Even so…I think I’ve only been to one twice in my life,” Oikawa recounts, nibbling into his candy apple. “Once before I studied abroad and another time in high school. It feels—nostalgic.”

“It’s the least I could do since you carried most of our assignment,” Iwaizumi replies, making Oikawa remember that today stemmed from their good grade. “So now I’ve paid my dues.”

The brown-haired student laughs quietly. “Yeah, we’re square.”

But it can’t be the end of it. He doesn’t want it to be.

“Can we still do this again though?”

“Another festival?” Iwaizumi asks, facing him with a quirked brow.

Oikawa chooses not to meet his eyes, glancing up at the lanterns decorating the dark sky instead. “Festival…movie…anything’s good,” he says.

_As long as you’re there._

The storm in his chest calms down a bit, like the silent admittance provides some sort of comfort, and he turns to Iwaizumi with a smile, a soft one that reflects the tenderness in his eyes and battles with the cold to put a faint pinkness to his cheeks.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi manages to get one word past the lump in his throat, and can’t bear to look at Oikawa lest his heart swells to bursting.

 _Ah shit_ , he thinks to himself, heat rising to his neck. _He’s too cute._

* * *

The crowd grows denser with the increasing number of festival-goers trying to get an unobstructed view of the upcoming fireworks. Iwaizumi and Oikawa mix with the sea of people, also hoping for a prime spot to catch the highlight of the evening from. They weave through couples holding hands, friends dressed in traditional attire together, and impatient children dragging their parents to the river up ahead.

The nearer they approach the hill that overlooks the river, the more they find themselves brushing against others and muttering _‘excuse me’s_. A particular eager guy overtakes Iwaizumi in a bid to secure a coveted spot on the hill, shouldering him rudely, but he turns to put up a hand in apology. The Engineering student disregards it to keep an eye out for his companion, who he has realized, is no longer beside him. Nor is he a few steps behind.

Stopping in his tracks, Iwaizumi checks the surroundings for any sign of Oikawa and fortunately for his height and unmistakable tuft of brown hair, finds him trotting behind a bunch of boisterous teenagers, trying to navigate his way around them. Iwaizumi frowns and goes to collect him, pushing past people hurrying in the opposite direction.

“Iwa-chan, don’t walk so quickly,” Oikawa huffs the moment Iwaizumi stands before him, panting slightly because he had been trying to catch up to Iwaizumi for a while after being blocked by various groups of people who seemed to have a mission to get in his way.

“Keep up,” Iwaizumi says. He doesn’t want to be separated when they’ve finally got to the good part of the night. (Although the entire night was good…okay so he doesn’t want to be separated period.)

“I’m trying!” Oikawa argues, and folds the length of his kimono into his fingers to give himself more leg space.

Iwaizumi follows his movement and notices his zori sandals and fine, perhaps they aren’t as easy to walk in as trainers. Oikawa wiggles his toes in the tabi socks, getting some blood circulating there. It might only be fall, but spending a whole evening in traditional get-up can wear down his tolerance of the cold. He gathers the fabric with his other hand but Iwaizumi reaches out to hold his wrist in place, the sudden touch sending a spike through Oikawa’s pulse.

Russet eyes flicker up to meet dark green ones, surprise clear as day in them, but Iwaizumi endures the embarrassment to slide his hand into Oikawa’s, fitting his palm against his.

In place of an explanation, Iwaizumi murmurs, “Let’s hurry before all the good spots are taken.”

They don’t hurry. In fact, they take their time to saunter through the crowd, Iwaizumi leading the way with a comfortable pace, their fingers touching lightly but hearts racing wildly. Oikawa doesn’t make a comment about their linked hands, and realizes that interestingly, the cold isn’t that cold anymore.

* * *

In the end, they manage to watch the fireworks from a pretty ideal location. They had to travel a bit further out but there was a large tree where fewer people picked to camp under. The two of them stop underneath its bare branches, hands now by their sides and in their own pockets. Their fingers still tingle from the warm touch, but neither mention anything about it for tonight it remains an unspoken happiness.

It’s not long until the starless sky above them explodes in a myriad of colours and patterns, drowning out chatter and stealing everyone’s attention.

For a while, that’s all Iwaizumi marvels at – the reds and greens and yellows bursting into the black sky and fizzling out in glitters. Each firework paints the canvas its own unique colour, pierces it with deafening sounds, all fighting for a chance of an ephemeral glory.

He averts his eyes away from the firework display to sneak a glance at Oikawa, who’s just as enamoured with the colourful showcase as he was before, if not more. His neck is tilted upwards like he wants to take in the sight of the whole sky if he could, and his eyes are round and bright, hiding a child-like gleam in hazel irises. Oikawa’s mouth is parted in wonderment, his profile illuminated by the colours above.

Here, the knowledge of how beautiful Oikawa looks comes to him in gentle reminders – he’s beautiful not only in his silk kimono, but when he’s ranting about the latest sci-fi film he watched, when he’s pouting because Iwaizumi was being a brute again, when he drops his haughty act and exposes a glimpse of his vulnerabilities.

And Iwaizumi knows one other thing.

He closes his eyes to the world and fills his lungs with a long, deep breath. He cracks them open in time to see it come out in a puff of air.

_I’m in love with a troublesome guy, aren’t I?_

* * *

_Omake_

_“Ow ow ow ow ow ow—OW! Mie-san!” Oikawa cries out, bracing himself against the full-length mirror of his walk-in wardrobe._

_“It has to be tight Tooru-kun!” Koumura Mieko, housekeeper of the Oikawa residence and fondly addressed as Mie-san by the Oikawa heir, emphasizes as she pulls the waist-string to secure the inner robe in place. Luckily he already has his undershirt on otherwise, the string would be digging uncomfortably into his skin. With one final tug, she adds sagely, “The beauty of a kimono reveals itself when and only when it is worn properly!”_

_“I’d still like to breathe please,” Oikawa wheezes out._

_Relenting with an empathetic smile, the petite woman loosens the reins slightly and tucks the ends of the waist-string into its fabric. “There you go.”_

_Oikawa breathes heavily and straightens his back to face the mirror fully. He meets his housekeeper’s cheerful gaze through the reflection. “Thank you.”_

_“So?” she probes, picking up Oikawa’s teal kimono and smoothening it out casually even though it was completely wrinkle-free. “What’s the occasion tonight?”_

_Her curiosity was so evident that Oikawa would say she did an abysmal job at hiding it. He hasn’t given her any details except to request her assistance with putting on the kimono out of the blue._

_“Nothing,” he answers evasively as Mie-san holds up the kimono to let his arms slip through the sleeves one after the other. “The fall festival’s in town.”_

_“Tooru-kun,” she sighs, folding the left side of the kimono over the right, and peers up at him. “The fall festival’s in town every year. But this year is the first time you’re going, and wearing a kimono no less. Tell me!”_

_For someone who’s a little more than a decade his senior, Mie-san retains a guileless personality that she has no qualms about displaying in front of Oikawa, who by now is akin to friend more than an employer._

_“My friend invited me,” he confesses._

_“Friend?” she parrots, adjusting the kimono collar such that the white inner robe peeks out from underneath the teal fabric. “Is it the same friend you’ve been meeting for schoolwork?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Must be some friend,” she says cheekily, tying another waist-string around the attire. “For you to clamour for my help in getting into your_ favourite _kimono. Is it a date?”_

_“It’s not a date,” Oikawa replies hastily. His eyes follow Mie-san as she rummages through an open drawer for a matching obi. In a low voice, he adds, “We aced our assignment, so we’re celebrating.”_

_She pulls out dark obi and returns to Oikawa. Even without looking at him, she can hear how much he’s looking forward to this not-date. When she does face him to put on the obi, he’s wearing a small smile that she knows barely conceals his excitement._

_“I haven’t seen you this excited for something in a while,” she tells him tenderly, wrapping the obi around his waist. “Do you like him?”_

_A pause as he considers the question and answers, “He’s different.”_

_“A good kind of different?” she asks, although she already finds her answer in the blush around his nape when she repositions his obi at the back. She’s glad Oikawa is hiding her reflection in the mirror because if he catches the smile she’s wearing, it’ll surely make him self-conscious. “I wish I could hear more about this boy but you’re going to be late.”_

_Oikawa checks the time and exclaims, “Oh shit! Iwa-chan’s gonna chew me out!”_

_“’Iwa-chan’ huh?” Mie-san repeats teasingly._

_The almost-dressed student makes a dying sound in the back of his throat at his slip-up. “Just—hurry!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the festival scene, I experimented with writing in snippets instead of one long scene. It was pretty fun and definitely not as intense. Also, if you’re curious about how Oikawa’s kimono looks like, I used [this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/515943701039925821/) as a reference, but imagine that in dark teal.
> 
> Regarding Oikawa’s housekeeper’s name, in my head she’s a small-sized, adorable woman in her early-thirties. I wanted her to have a cheerful and feminine impression, so I chose the name Koumura (幸村 – happy village) and Mieko (光恵子 – blessed with light and the name sounds feminine to me).
> 
> Shout about iwaoi with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/project_ecto)!!


	5. hotel vs. convenience store

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Oikawa’s mother features in this chapter and I know she’s a lovely woman in canon but again, let’s play pretend for the sake of the fic.

“Tooru, it’s time to go,” Oikawa Ishina calls out from the foot of the stairs. Dressed in a wine red floor-length evening dress, the only woman in the Oikawa household checks that she’s got everything she needs in her Ferragamo clutch before snapping it shut with a click.

“Coming!” Oikawa replies, adjusting his cuff links as he hurries downstairs. For someone who had been dreading tonight’s event and left the dressing and styling to the eleventh hour, he managed to clean up pretty well in his charcoal Burberry suit.

Stopping in front of his mother and murmuring a _‘sorry’_ , he stands still as she fixes his tie and brushes away a stray thread on his shoulder with an elegant flick of her wrist.

As a woman of stature and grace, Ishina commands the attention of others with sharp almond-coloured eyes and ageless beauty. Oikawa’s been told numerous times throughout his childhood that he’d taken after his mother in terms of his appearance, and while his father is certainly not lacking in the looks department, Oikawa’s hazel eyes share a similar intensity with his mother’s.

Tonight, with her side-swept curls and figure-hugging gown, she is sure to be turning a few heads.

“Koumura-san,” she addresses her housekeeper without preamble. Mie-san, who was preparing to see them out, straightens her back in attention. “Make sure the veranda is spotless when we return. I’m having guests over tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she answers respectfully.

Ishina leads the way and Oikawa follows dutifully, sharing an exaggerated look of pure misery with Mie-san behind his mother’s back.

He was not looking forward to the Sports Ecosystem Players Networking Night. In fact, he was never fond of such events because it involved a great deal of wearing a plastic smile all night and engaging people on topics he was hardly passionate about. Admittedly, he has a flair for charming others with pretty smiles and smooth words, and could undoubtedly hold a conversation about the latest industry trends without breaking a sweat. But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it.

Oikawa would much rather be holed up in his room watching Netflix or checking out JAXA’s latest mission on their website but his mother has never let him miss these events and she sure as hell won’t start now.

For one, people love him. Folks in executive management are impressed with his technical knowledge and the more liberal ones find his clever remarks refreshing. Some of them go as far as to inquire about him during the rare times he’s unable to attend due to schoolwork. For another thing, Ishina believes that her son can start contributing more to the company by rubbing shoulders with important people. She never once asked if he wanted to.

Then again, Oikawa never voiced his reluctance before.

Maybe he should start now. Seed the idea in her mind and slowly work his way out of this. They’ve been driving for a while now and their car ride could do with some chit-chat. Car rides with his mother have always been too silent.

Oikawa opens his mouth to start the conversation but his mother beats him to it.

“Drop us off at the lobby,” she instructs their driver as the car passes a green light. “Park the car next to Kazeyo’s.”

Oikawa purses his lips and leans back against the seat, feeling dumb that his attempt was shot down even before he could begin. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed they were almost reaching their destination.

The Mercedes turns noiselessly into the hotel entrance, and Oikawa cranes his neck to stare up at the towering building that is The Capital Hotel Tokyu. Sighing internally, he braces himself for an evening of obligatory business entertainment.

* * *

As it turns out, Oikawa was right; this was about as fun as sitting through a three-hour lecture on an Introduction to Economic Analysis. He’s shaken hands with more people than he can count, struck conversations with old and new faces alike, and complimented every lady he’s met throughout the event.

At some point in time, he had exchanged a few words with his father and wandered away from his mother who was busy entertaining other attendees. Now, halfway through the evening, Oikawa takes a well-deserved breather from the mingling. He deposits his glass of grapefruit cooler onto a passing waiter’s tray and heads towards the smorgasbord of canapes in the middle of the banquet room.

Helping himself to a small plate, Oikawa singles out an empty high table against the wall and makes a beeline towards it as naturally as he can, praying that nobody will approach him for the rest of the damn night. From his inconspicuous spot, he pops a smoked salmon crisp into his mouth and settles for people-watching.

The banquet room for the networking night is a grand one, with sparkling chandeliers, carpeted floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view of the hotel’s much-lauded garden outside. Across the room, Oikawa catches sight of one Suguru Daishou and realizes that he kept his word since his mother never confronted him about being in the company of a certain boy too much.

After polishing off his canapes, Oikawa cleans his mouth with a napkin and decides to leave for the restroom. Not a few steps later, a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Oikawa-san.”

A wily smirk works its way to Oikawa’s lips at the sound of that voice and he swivels to face none other than Kageyama Tobio.

“Tobio-chan,” he greets mockingly. “You’re invited too?”

Frankly, he hadn’t counted on meeting his self-declared rival here, given that he’s a mere third-year in high school. That said, he’s heard that Kageyama senior has been getting Tobio-chan more involved in Karasuno’s sports media business, mostly learning the ropes, but soon he’ll be given more responsibility especially when he’s already proven himself to be naturally gifted in the art of contract negotiation and what-not. Oikawa’s heard one too many people singing praises about him.

“Yes,” Kageyama says civilly. “My dad wanted me to get to know his associates better.”

Oikawa hums patronizingly. “Laying the groundwork for you huh,” he snorts. “He must really have high hopes for you.”

“Yes, I’m doing my best to make him proud,” the black-haired boy answers as it is. He looks a little out of place in this enormous room full of C-suite level individuals, despite the smart navy blue suit he’s got on. Oikawa notices the way he’s standing stiffly, closed fists at his sides, and wonders if the brat is still a little bit wary of him after that one time he put him in his place at the golf event for young and potential business leaders in the industry.

“Speaking of which,” Oikawa says as he cants his hips towards the other boy. “You’re cramming for university entrance exams now right.”

“Yes, I’ll be taking the entrance exams for Todai.”

“Good for you,” Oikawa drawls, not meaning it at all.

“Um Oikawa-san,” he speaks up, staring at his senior with genuine inquisitiveness. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” the university student snaps. “I’m very busy. Many people to talk to and all.”

Kageyama makes his question quick. “Why did you choose to go to Hosei?”

The suddenness of it catches Oikawa off guard but not enough to make him fumble. He’s had to answer that question more times than he’s comfortable with; after all, his family’s circle of friends has an unhealthy interest in the lives of the next generation. He supposes it’s not that unexpected that Kageyama, who perceives him as an unapproachable role model, would be curious as well.

“We thought you’d go to a more prestigious school, especially with your grades and qualifications,” Kageyama adds hastily. “We were all very surprised when we heard you went to Hosei.”

Oikawa studies him carefully. The adults who have asked him this question always had one of two things – a pitiful expression stemming from the misconception that Oikawa had underperformed on his entrance examinations or a poorly-concealed shrewdness in their eyes at the potential discovery of Oikawa’s weakness. Kageyama on the other hand, holds only bemusement in his slate blue eyes.

Each and every time Oikawa has to explain his actions, he offers the same generic lie – that Hosei’s campus culture suits him the most. He doesn’t expound on what kind of culture it is, and he makes sure he ends the conversation with an acerbic smile.

Today however, he doesn’t feel like lying.

But he’s definitely not delirious enough to disclose the truth to Tobio-chan.

“Does it matter?” he asks instead, the lightness in his voice an act. “Whether I go to Hosei or Todai or Keio? I’ll end up at the same place no matter where I go.”

Kageyama frowns, not quite understanding.

“Same place?”

Perhaps it’s the pure perplexity on Kageyama’s face that knocks out all the energy to be angry from Oikawa. Perhaps it’s being stuck here, in the company of strangers and dressed in a stifling three-piece suit for hours that wears him out. Whichever it is, whatever aggravation he felt towards the boy before leaves him.

_(Somewhere in the crevices of his heart, he knows – with utmost clarity – that his animosity towards Kageyama was misplaced. He knows – with frightening lucidity – that it’s a manifestation of his insecurities, exacerbated by unhelpful comparisons.)_

“Let me tell you something Tobio-chan,” he says with a jaded sigh. “One day you’ll find something you’ll never be able to compromise on. And it might take you a long time and a lot of troublesome things before you’re where you want to be, but you’ll do it without regrets.”

He’s not where he wants to be yet, but he’s made a decision that could lead him there, and Oikawa hopes to god that he can follow his own advice.

Kageyama doesn’t get a decent answer out of the conversation, as a grey-haired executive calls for him to join him and a few other equally important-looking folks. The high school student bows politely to Oikawa and takes his leave, his senior’s words niggling at the back of his mind.

Oikawa watches his figure for a brief moment before remembering where he was supposed to go and wheels around, only to come face-to-face with Ushijima Wakatoshi, clad in a black suit and mauve tie.

For fuck’s sake, can’t he catch a break?

“Oikawa,” comes Ushijima’s deep voice.

Steeling himself for another infuriating exchange, he says with contempt, “If it isn’t Ushiwaka-chan.”

The obvious displeasure either flies over his head or he’s choosing to ignore it completely. Either way, it pisses Oikawa off. If Tobio-chan is his rival, then Ushiwaka is his nemesis.

“How have you been?” he asks in a bid to make small talk.

“Never better,” Oikawa snaps. For as long as he’s known him, Ushijima has an uncanny ability to fan the flames of his ire. The fact that he’s so inexpressive and factual that he comes across as blunt yet is highly regarded as a promising leader makes Oikawa want to flip a table. How is it that someone so bland can beat him in so many different ways when Oikawa had to work his ass off just to get a taste of that success?

“I heard you haven’t been very involved in Aoba Johsai’s operations lately,” he comments. So he’s here to suss out his competition?

Oikawa narrows his eyes at the tall, stone-faced Keio University student and up-and-coming star of Shiratorizawa, a renowned sports management company in Japan. It’s true that he’s been out of the loop for some projects, but that was because of his own doing. He wanted less to do with his father’s company, so he conveniently used schoolwork as an excuse.

“I have other things to take care of,” he says vaguely, not entirely a lie.

“I take it that Hosei has been keeping you busy?” Ushijima presumes.

“As a bee.”

“You should have come to Keio,” he tells Oikawa, who resists the urge to roll his eyes but fails. Of fucking course Ushiwaka is here to remind him how he’s made the wrong choice of enrolling into Hosei as if that isn’t the only thing he’s been saying every single time they meet since entering university. It’s like he’s trying to make an ally out of Oikawa, who wants nothing to do with that.

“And risk being paired with you on assignments?” the Hosei student sneers. “No thanks.”

“Keio hardly gives out paired work, mostly group projects and individual assignments,” Ushijima clarifies.

Appalled at his straight-talk, especially when he’s genuinely being factual and not doing it to be mean, Oikawa shakes his head, “First Tobio-chan, and now you. It’s too early for this.”

Ushijima regards him blankly. “It’s well into the evening.”

“And it’s well past the allowable time limit I give myself for talking to you,” Oikawa retorts, deciding he doesn’t want to burst a vein tonight. “So if you’ll excuse me.”

He stalks past Ushijima in a few sure steps, never once meeting his unsmiling brown eyes.

“Oikawa,” the black-suited student addresses for the last time. He has guts, Oikawa will give him that, when he faces the Hosei undergraduate who has his back towards him and says with certainty, “Keio can provide the best environment for your talents to flourish. I can attest to that.”

He can attest to _shit_ , Oikawa spits in his mind, royally pissed. Spinning around, he pins Ushijima with a hostile glare, an eyebrow raised as if daring him to continue. What the fuck does he know about where Oikawa should be? What the fuck does _anyone_ know?

He feels his lips curl into a snarl when he answers, caustic and unforgiving, “Ushiwaka, when I’m finally where I’m supposed to be, and it’s certainly not because I went to _Keio_ , you best remember this conversation.”

* * *

Oikawa never returns to the banquet room after splashing cold water at his face to calm himself in the restroom. Instead, he loiters around the foyer, leaning against one of the marble walls as hotel guests come and go, and taps away at his phone.

 _‘Iwa-chan save meeeee,’_ he types into his phone and can’t help the smile when he receives a reply seconds after.

> _Iwa-chan: explain…  
>  _ _Oikawa: i have to attend a lame networking event for big shots in the industry and its boringggggg  
>  _ _Iwa-chan: like now? where's it at?  
>  _ _Oikawa: it’s at the capitol. i just talked to two very annoying people.  
>  _ _Iwa-chan: so right up yr alley  
>  _ _Oikawa: iwa-chan please. these people are on a whole different level. you're lucky you get to talk to me.  
>  _ _Iwa-chan: i'm lucky my blood pressure hasn’t spiked  
>  _ _Oikawa: and you call me the dramatic one?  
>  _ _Oikawa: so what are you doing now?  
>  _ _Iwa-chan: studying  
>  _ _Oikawa: i'd rather be studying than here. i'd rather be anywhere else. get me out of hereeeeee  
>  _ _Iwa-chan: why do u hate it so much? don't u attend these things a lot?  
>  _ _Oikawa: i don’t exactly have a ball of a time here  
>  _ _Oikawa: everyone wants to network with everyone else, find out what each other’s doing so that they can one up each other  
>  _ _Oikawa: i do that just fine and so my mother won’t lecture me when i don’t  
>  _ _Oikawa: but it’s so tiring  
>  _ _Oikawa: iwa-chan?_

His phone doesn’t light up with any more messages from Iwaizumi so Oikawa locks his phone screen with a disappointed sigh. Iwa-chan’s probably too busy cramming for some quiz or something to entertain his boredom. His mood dips faster than the ride down a roller-coaster’s apex. Oikawa pushes himself off the wall and musters the will to return to the event, chanting to himself that it’s a couple more hours left.

He exchanges a few words with his father’s friends and mingles with several people his age. When his phone buzzes with a call midway into a conversation about trading (thank god), he excuses himself to answer it and double-takes when the caller ID reads ‘Iwa-chan’.

“Hey,” comes Iwaizumi’s cool voice the moment Oikawa picks up the call. “Can you go out from the outer—no, innermost door?”

“Iwa-chan?” he breathes out in bewilderment, although his legs follow Iwaizumi’s instructions. “What’s going on?”

“Just do it.”

Checking his surroundings to make sure he isn’t watched, Oikawa surreptitiously meanders his way towards the glass door at the end of the room, clutching his phone to his ear. He opens it discreetly and steps out into the cold air.

Oikawa finds himself on a patio encircled by low stone railing and looking out at the faintly-lit lush garden, decked with flowerless shrubbery and a single maple tree that has yet to fully bloom.

“Over here,” a voice from his side calls out.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whispers fiercely, scuttling to where Iwaizumi was partially obscured behind the railing. “What are you doing here?!”

The other boy hangs up the phone and has to tilt his head upwards to face Oikawa, who has a larger height advantage now that he was standing on an elevated patio while he was hiding below.

“You said to get you out of here,” Iwaizumi reminds him. “So I’m your ride out.”

Oikawa can hear the rustling of leaves in the wind as he stares open-mouthed at the unexpected visitor. He didn’t actually mean it.

“Are you serious?!” he finally exclaims, leaning so far out onto the railing Iwaizumi’s afraid he might tip over.

“I’m here aren’t I?”

The normally eloquent student sputters a bit before replying, “How did you know I was in this room?”

“There’s only one networking night listed on the signage,” Iwaizumi states nonchalantly. Once he had parked his scooter and entered the hotel, it wasn’t difficult to figure out which event Oikawa was attending. Even sneaking into this garden had been a piece of cake. It’s connected to the entire row of banquet rooms on this floor so he simply accessed it from one of the empty ones.

“I can’t believe you actually…” he trails off.

Oikawa lets out a breath and drops his head to suppress a smile. Just when he thought he had to resign to a woeful night, the world presents him a surprise in the form of Iwaizumi Hajime hiding in the bushes and promising him an escape.

“You coming?” he asks, breaking him out of his thoughts. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, Iwaizumi adds, “I kinda parked my scooter illegally. So if you’re up to it—”

“Let me get my coat,” Oikawa immediately answers, pushing himself off the railing. There’s no way in hell he’s not taking up on Iwa-chan’s offer, when that’s the one thing he needs right now. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and grins at Iwaizumi, who returns it just as easily, before spinning away to disappear back into the banquet room.

He concocts some excuse about not feeling well and makes it a point to act that way in front of a few prominent people so that his mother will buy it when she finds out he left early. Collecting his coat from the cloak room, Oikawa hurries out to the hotel entrance where Iwaizumi had texted him to wait.

The Engineering major is already there, his black Honda Tact Basic parked behind him and an extra helmet on the pillion’s seat. Oikawa slips on his trench coat and shrugs the collar in place, bounding over to Iwaizumi with more excitement than he can contain – a stark contrast to his earlier countenance.

Iwaizumi had taken special notice of his appearance tonight. From the moment he saw him in the garden and as he exited those double glass doors, he couldn’t seem to look away from Oikawa’s dapper image. The slim cut of the charcoal suit hugs his figure nicely and its buttons are undone, revealing the vest underneath. A sleek black belt circles his slender waist and his legs look impossibly long in the tapered pants, the hem ending above a pair of black Oxfords.

Topped with his single-breasted trench coat, Iwaizumi is once again floored by how attractive Oikawa is.

“So,” he pants, as if he had ran here. His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Where are we going?”

“Have you eaten?” Iwaizumi asks, handing the extra helmet to Oikawa.

“A little,” he answers, suddenly nervous because this will be the first time he’s riding Iwaizumi’s scooter. (It’s not, if he counts the time Iwaizumi took in his drunken ass.) “But the canapes are hardly filling.”

“Then let’s go grab some food,” Iwaizumi simply says and swings a leg over his scooter, turning the key in the ignition.

Oikawa puts on his helmet wordlessly, wondering where he should put his hands. On the back of the seat? No, that’s too dangerous. Around his waist? That’s too intimate isn’t it? His shoulders?

“Hold on,” Iwaizumi instructs, and as the scooter starts, Oikawa lurches towards Iwaizumi, hands finding their way around his rescuer’s waist after all.

* * *

He takes him to the ramen place that they visited with Hanamaki and Matsukawa before and the place is pretty crowded that they get seated at the counter, facing the chef.

Iwaizumi just sat through a non-stop five-minute rant of Oikawa complaining about how someone named ‘Tobio-chan’ and ‘Ushiwaka-chan’ are the bane of his existence. He doesn’t really get it, since Oikawa doesn’t provide enough context, but he listens while slurping up his noodles. He understands this much – so-called Tobio-chan and Ushiwaka-chan are rather high-fliers in their respective fields even at their young age; the former is a bratty high school student who knows so much about broadcasting contracts that it’s insane and the latter is a hopeless virgin.

The more he ranted about them, the more heated he became, and Iwaizumi is glad that the other patrons’ noisy chatter helps to drown him out a bit. What he still doesn’t know is why Oikawa has such a vendetta against them.

“What’s your deal with the two of them anyway?” Iwaizumi asks around a mouthful of ramen, quirking a brow at Oikawa who’s sitting on his right. He had decided to do away with his suit jacket, leaving him in an opened vest and loosened tie. Even so, it’s still too formal for this place but nobody seems to pay any heed.

The brown-haired boy exhales sharply through his nose and stares straight ahead before whipping his head to Iwaizumi, eyes glowering.

“Just pure, unadulterated competition,” he hisses and yells for seconds like he’s a regular already, thrusting his empty bowl towards the counter-top, from where someone shouts _‘coming right up!’_

“What are you guys competing on?” is Iwaizumi’s natural line of questioning. He chooses not to comment on his appetite.

Oikawa huffs again, putting up both hands in an exasperated shrug, flicking his chopsticks that Iwaizumi barely dodges a flying droplet of tonkotsu soup.

“I don’t know,” he admits with an angry sigh and a shake of his head. “Who gets into a better university? Who gets better grades at school? Who disappoints their parents less?”

It’s at this point that Iwaizumi realizes Oikawa’s feud with them is probably a by-product of being caught up in the cut-throat world of cunning businesspeople and gossipy social circles. Suddenly he feels blessed that he’s not some magnate’s son and gets to live his humble life without drama.

“And you’re keeping score?” Iwaizumi laughs. He’s not poking fun at Oikawa, but rather trying to play this off lightly – a way to calm his friend if he only recognizes how trivial this actually is.

The pure, unadulterated competition, as he had put it, makes him frustrated, not fired up like the way his astronomy elective had. And Iwaizumi hopes he won’t get all worked up about something he’s probably projecting on himself anyway. Anger is not a good look on Oikawa Tooru.

“Of course not,” he scoffs, wolfing down his second bowl of ramen. “I don’t have to,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose as if he’s remembered something unpleasant. “Every time they do some remarkable thing, my mother never fails to bring it up.”

Her severe expression and disparaging insinuations cross his mind and it’s like adding fuel to fire. His eyes burn with renewed vehemence.

“Looks like you could let off some steam,” Iwaizumi points out. He doesn’t think he’s seen him this annoyed before. Sure, he’s been upset, but it was all pouty-anger, not the kind of fury that’s been bottled up and coiling in his gut.

He watches Oikawa thoughtfully as he scarfs down his food.

“Finish your food,” he says eventually, settling on what will make this night better. Oikawa might have wanted him to get him out of the dreaded event, but won’t it be better if he could be saved from his dreary mood? “I’ll take you somewhere.”

“Where?” Oikawa asks curiously, a bit of soup stuck on the side of his mouth.

“You’ll know when we get there,” Iwaizumi answers cryptically.

* * *

“A batting centre?” Oikawa wonders aloud when they dismount the scooter and are greeted by a large orange neon sign written in katakana. He had shucked off his vest and tie, leaving them in the scooter’s storage compartment, before entering the old building with Iwaizumi.

“They’re not only good for rookie practice,” Iwaizumi tells him as he leads them towards the row of doors labelled with signs that indicate which are for left- and right-handers. He easily picks an empty lane for right-handers as there aren’t many people around given the time.

“You come here to let off steam?” Oikawa asks rhetorically while Iwaizumi fiddles with the machine to get their game going. He surveys the place to find two other lanes occupied. The hitter closer to them is already well into his game, swinging his bat and hurtling the ball with a resounding _‘thunk’_.

Oikawa winces. It’s such an intense method of de-stressing. His idea of cooling off is more therapeutic and involves dipping into a private onsen or spiralling down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories on YouTube.

“Yeah,” the spiky-haired student says without looking up, selecting the option for 80 km/hour, the slowest. “I always feel better after going for a few rounds.”

“That’s so like Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi humours. “How do _you_ do it then? I bet you just bottle it up until it gets too much.”

That’s not true, Oikawa wants to retort. When he’s pissed, he releases the anger in waves and sometimes he lets it seep out in controlled breaths. After that’s done, the seed of his fury stays lodged in his heart, unresolved and ready to flare up at the next provocation. He supposes Iwaizumi isn’t entirely wrong, so he stays quiet.

Iwaizumi isn’t here to get mixed up in some mopey shit, he’s here for the exact opposite of that. So he shrugs off his army green jacket and throws it on the floor, picking up one of the bats. Oikawa follows suit, folding his trench coat neatly and dropping it on top of Iwaizumi’s jacket.

He assumed his rescuer would start the ball rolling, so he’s startled when Iwaizumi holds out the bat for him out of the blue.

“Try it,” he says.

“Umm,” Oikawa hesitates, eyes flickering to the bat before glancing back at Iwaizumi. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of batting experience. The only time he’s batted is during one of his Phys Ed classes in high school.

His reluctance is apparent, but Iwaizumi isn’t letting him off so easily. “Try it,” he repeats, voice a notch gentler but no less assertive. “If you don’t like it, we’ll leave.”

Seeing as there’s not much of a way out, Oikawa takes the bat from him with tentative fingers, getting accustomed to the weight of it in his hands. Iwaizumi retreats to the back of the lane and notes Oikawa’s figure when he takes his position, legs apart and bat raised.

At the front of the lane is a digital image of a real baseball player pitching to help with the batter’s timing. Oikawa shifts his weight, grips the bat tightly, and when the fake pitcher drops his elbow, he takes a swing.

It misses the baseball completely.

The next one comes several seconds later and that too flies past his bat.

“You probably won’t be able to get it the first few times,” Iwaizumi calls out from behind and Oikawa frowns. That’s not very encouraging. The subsequent baseball comes hurling at him so he keeps his eyes trained in front, but he misses again.

“Relax, you’re too stiff,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Oikawa tries to loosen the muscles in his body, especially his shoulders, but when he swings his bat again, he doesn’t hit the baseball by a long shot. He usually has good aim, so maybe it’s the collared shirt and slim cut dress pants that are hindering his movements.

“I bet you thought you’d be good at this since you have good aim,” Iwaizumi surmises. “But it’s not just about aim. It’s about rhythm and timing. Pull yourself back just when the pitcher’s about to throw the ball, then step forward to create momentum in your swing. Legs apart. Follow through.”

The rookie wishes he could turn around to scowl at his instructor with the barrage of directions he’s throwing at him. But the baseballs come at him in succession and he doesn’t want to get hit in the face or something. So he tries to remember what Iwaizumi said and more importantly, to execute it.

After a couple more missed balls, Oikawa’s beginning to wonder how this is helping him to let off steam. If anything, he feels the frustration growing. It grows from the pit of his stomach, rises to his chest and explodes out of him in one mean swing.

Finally – _finally_ – the bat connects with the ball with an undeniable _‘thunk’_ and sends it flying in the other direction.

Stunned, Oikawa spins around to give Iwaizumi a speechless smile, all teeth and making the sides of his eyes crinkle, and Iwaizumi returns it with a grin.

“You’re not done,” he’s told and Iwaizumi points behind him, where the fake pitcher is preparing to pitch again. Oikawa quickly gets into his stance and it seems like he’s got the hang of it when he doesn’t miss for a second time in a row.

For a whiny rich kid, Iwaizumi admits Oikawa has a surprising athletic prowess. He hits the next two with pin-point accuracy and is breathing hard by the time the last ball sails across the lane. Iwaizumi gives him a few moments to catch his breath, chest brimming with pride at successfully getting the previously upset Oikawa to smile again.

See? Sometimes you really just need to hit something to feel better.

“Let me go again,” Oikawa pants out, pushing out his chest as he takes a deep breath.

Iwaizumi wanted his turn, but he supposes he can wait. Oikawa seems like he’s just got his engine warm, and he’s not about to kill that. He pops in the coins for another round of ten tries and slinks back to watch Oikawa.

The Business major is raring to go, legs apart, elbows up, bat positioned, and tongue stuck out in total concentration. He swings his bat with purpose, the satisfaction filling the spaces in his lungs when it connects with the incoming baseballs. One after another, they fly across the green lanes, some haphazardly, some in clean straight lines.

And every time they make contact, Oikawa feels all of tonight’s frustration and anger build up and released in swing after swing, one deafening thud after another. He imagines the balls as everything and everyone that has pissed him off, challenged him, underestimated him, and denigrated him, and channels all that pent-up emotions into a powerful swing, expelling them in formidable strikes.

Quite abruptly, he lets out a yell at nothing in particular, startling Iwaizumi.

“This!” he cries out, readying for another pitch. “Is for Ushiwaka! Stop telling me that I should have gone to Keio!!”

There is a _‘thwack’_ and the net catches the ball.

“This!!” Oikawa exclaims. “Is for Tobio-chan, the stupid—little—genius!!”

With a loud grunt, he sends that offending ball away as well.

“And THIS!” he screams, “Is for my _mother_ —who—OH MY GOD IWA-CHAN!”

The non-stop batting has almost exhausted Oikawa, whose muscles are aching with the amount of force he put into each one of his hits. Unfortunately, he didn’t manage to get into the motion in time for the pitch, and the ball hits the end cap at a weird angle, barrelling it towards Iwaizumi who had at some point in time, inched closer towards Oikawa.

It smacks him dead centre in the face, his whole body stumbling back from the suddenness of it.

“Are you okay?!” Oikawa screeches, dropping the bat and rushing towards Iwaizumi, who has a hand to his nose.

“M’fine,” he rasps, eyes squeezed shut as his nose throbs painfully.

“Let me see,” Oikawa demands. He reaches out to pull Iwaizumi’s wrist away from his face and breathes a sigh of relief when his nose isn’t bleeding. Iwaizumi doesn’t resist when Oikawa instinctively cups his jaw with both hands, turning his face from side to side to check for other possible injuries but it appears that his nose was the only victim.

“I’m okay Oikawa,” he assures, pulling his hands away gently, lest he notices the heat creeping into his cheeks at the proximity of their faces and the way Oikawa gazes at him – full of sheepish concern.

Oikawa bites his lip guiltily, but really he’s trying to keep from smiling in amusement. It all happened so fast, and he never imagined being the one who would make Iwaizumi scrunch his nose in discomfort, and to be honest, it’s pretty comical. And cute. Did he know Iwa-chan could be cute? Well, now he does.

“You feel better?” Iwaizumi asks after he determines that a nosebleed was not on its way, eyes glancing up to Oikawa searchingly. He might have been the one who’s injured, but it was Oikawa who needed therapy and if Iwaizumi dared say so himself, he’d gotten it.

“Much,” Oikawa replies, a fondness in his russet eyes.

Contented, Iwaizumi gives his aching nose one last rub. The pain was slowly subsiding and his face feels fine, but it might take a while for his nose to return to its original state. Oikawa can’t help the short laugh that escapes.

“Your nose is so red,” he points out, no longer able to keep a smile at bay.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says sarcastically, but his tiny smirk tells Oikawa that no blame was assigned.

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn in the imaginary batter’s box and it’s just as well, because Oikawa takes the chance to build up his strength for when it’s his turn again. It also means he gets to watch and boy, if Iwaizumi doesn’t offer a great show of it. It’s not that he deliberately makes a performance out of it, Oikawa simply appreciates his form, his mean swing, and the way his bat makes contact with the ball with a satisfying crack.

When Oikawa asked him if he played baseball in school, he said no; he should have expected that Iwa-chan was capable at this, as he probably is for anything athletic, even without having formal training.

They take turns for a couple more rounds, switching things up by challenging each other on who could get more hits in and whose hits covered more distance or were more accurate. For that short period of time, Oikawa forgets about his rage and insecurities and simply loses himself to the blitheness of this – sweating it out in his starched white shirt and laughing with Iwa-chan who predictably wins all their challenges.

“I’m all out of coins,” Iwaizumi states when the last round ends and Oikawa is sitting cross-legged on the floor, in need of a break and a whole litre of water.

“Oh, I don’t have any too,” he says.

“I guess it’s time to go then,” Iwaizumi points out. It didn’t feel like they were here for a long time, but time is an elusive concept especially when you’re enjoying yourself.

Immediately, Oikawa scrambles up to say hurriedly, “It’s still early,” although it’s really not. A hopeful and a little desperate gleam shines in his eyes as he asks, “Can we go somewhere else?”

Iwaizumi’s surprised he still has the energy but he can’t bring himself to say no to that and truthfully, he wouldn’t mind prolonging their time together. He searches his mind for a place that would be open this late at night and comes up with one.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “Grab your coat.”

* * *

Iwaizumi drives them to the arcade, where the booming music and loud whirring of the game machines make the batting centre seem like a picnic date. Oikawa doesn’t bother bringing his trench coat with him this time.

The hype in the five-storey arcade in the heart of Shinjuku is palpable, and Oikawa is immersed in the upbeat music and colourful lights before he knew it. They try their hand at the basketball machines, the Initial D race, a zombie game, Taiko no Tatsujin, and Dance Rush Stardom. Iwaizumi beats him in everything, though Oikawa makes it a point to remind him that he was only a measly fourteen points ahead in Dance Rush Stardom.

He drags Iwaizumi to the claw machines downstairs when he’s had enough of being defeated in every challenge. Iwa-chan can’t beat him there right?

It’s akin to a maze down there, with rows and rows of claw machines displaying goods from gigantic plushies to anime figurines. Somewhere among the glass boxes he loses Iwaizumi and doesn’t realize it until he finishes browsing his row of claw machines, not tempted to catch any for himself.

After weaving through the floor, Oikawa finds Iwaizumi in another row, having exchanged some notes for coins and slotting them into one of the machines.

“Iwa-chan there you are,” he calls out, approaching him interestedly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting this one,” Iwaizumi says, keeping his eyes trained on his prize, which is a lime green alien plushie that could fit in the palm of your hand.

“Why?” Oikawa asks, eyebrows creasing. The colour was so tacky and it looks like something his alien-obsessed seven-year-old self would get.

“Its head is so big it reminds me of you,” he answers, positioning his hands at the controls.

“So nice of you to think of me,” Oikawa quips but watches intently as Iwaizumi makes the first attempt to catch it.

He tries his best to be focused on the task at hand but with Oikawa shouting unhelpful instructions at his side, it adds to the difficulty. Nevertheless, he’s not leaving without the big-headed, small-bodied alien plushie, so he persists while keeping up the banter with Oikawa.

_(“That was obviously too much to the right!”—“Shut up I know what I’m doing!”—“You’re wasting money that’s what you’re doing!”—“I’ll get it in the next try!”)_

He succeeds after three more failed attempts and the mini alien plushie tumbles soundlessly out of the claw machine. Iwaizumi bends down to pick it up, noting how it feels softer than it looks, and tosses it at Oikawa.

“It’s yours.”

Oikawa fumbles with not dropping the plushie and when it settles in his palms, he snaps up to regard Iwaizumi in bafflement. The other boy refuses to meet his eyes though, slanting them downwards embarrassedly. No matter, Oikawa is fully aware of what this is about and his heart swells with something warm and tender. He finds that he can no longer look at Iwaizumi without feeling like the dam in his chest is about to break, so he ducks his head and gazes at his newly adopted alien.

It sits innocently in his hands and stares blankly at him with large, black almond-shaped eyes that cover almost half its large head.

“Its head is really big,” he chokes out.

* * *

They make one last stop before heading home, and it’s the convenience store. After sweating it out at the batting centre and arcade games, their night winds down with a couple of popsicles from a conbini on the way back to Oikawa’s residence.

Iwaizumi buys himself a soda-flavoured GariGarikun popsicle while Oikawa gets a cola-flavoured one. They sit at the nearby curved stairs to enjoy their cold treat, overlooking an empty open space save for the stone sculpture in the middle, with Iwaizumi’s scooter parked behind them. On a normal day, this place would have been bustling with people roller-skating or walking their dogs.

For now, it’s just the two of them with their slowly melting popsicles and quiet thoughts.

For Oikawa, these quiet thoughts are nothing but Iwaizumi-centric. If you told him that he would have ended the day with a smile on his face and a fullness in his heart, he would not have believed you. But the world has a way of surprising you when you least expect it. For Oikawa, Iwaizumi was the cause of it. He thinks back to a few hours ago when Iwaizumi showed up unannounced to whisk him away from a lame party and finds it hard to believe that someone would go that far for him at the drop of a plea that hadn’t been that serious. Today had been so surreal. Iwaizumi Hajime is so surreal.

“You’re being creepy,” Iwaizumi interrupts the comfortable silence.

“What’s this?” Oikawa says good-naturedly. “Bullying me all of a sudden?”

“You’re smiling to yourself,” he comments, eyes never leaving his blue popsicle. “It’s weird.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks, still wearing a smile. “My night started out badly. But now? Not so much.”

In those few words, Iwaizumi can tell that he’s genuinely happy and he considers tonight a big success. He doesn’t tease him any further.

Oikawa licks at his popsicle, wondering how it’s possible to feel so light and invincible purely by being with someone. And he’s amazed at how it’s always Iwa-chan who keeps him in line, who lifts his spirits, who makes him feel comfortable in his own skin. With him, he is so unapologetically himself, and Oikawa has always been waiting for a time like this. He never expected to find it in Iwaizumi Hajime – the boy who first showed him an act of kindness on a cold night he now wishes he could remember.

When he thinks about it like that, he reaches a logical conclusion that his heart has already figured out long ago. So how can he not act on it?

“I like you Iwa-chan.”

While it seemed natural to Oikawa that this should be how things unfolded between them, it stuns Iwaizumi into wide-eyed silence. The green-eyed boy stares at him open-mouthed, his almost-finished popsicle completely neglected. Somewhere in his mind that’s descending into chaos, he registers the fact that Oikawa has _confessed_ to him, but he can’t find the words to reply.

“Well?” Oikawa prompts, cocking his head to watch Iwaizumi intently. Iwaizumi doesn’t understand how he can look so calm. “You like me too right?”

If he had scrambled a reply in his head, it’s now thrown out the window by Oikawa’s self-confidence. Iwaizumi can only let out a short laugh.

“You…arrogant little shit,” he exhales, dropping his head to hide a fierce blush. He’d expect nothing less of Oikawa Tooru. Finally working up the courage to look him in the eyes, Iwaizumi adds quietly, “Yeah, I like you too.”

Oikawa hums happily, smile hanging on the corners of his cola-flavoured lips.

They lapse into silence, each nibbling on their popsicle except Iwaizumi’s mind was going into overdrive thinking what he should do next. Oikawa confessed to him – _Oikawa Tooru just confessed to him_ – and he told him he likes him back. He understood that right? He said it properly right?

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi calls, trying to keep his anxiety in check. He faces him and makes sure that his eyes are locked with his before saying, “Just so we’re clear, I really like you. Like romantically. And I want to date you.”

He’s not too happy with how it comes out in nervous fragments, but he soldiers on to ask, “Will you go out with me?”

The brown-haired boy blinks back at him in surprise, not expecting Iwaizumi to be so straight-forward about it and not to mention shy.

“Of course Iwa-chan,” he sing-songs, hoping that it would conceal how fast his heart was racing. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms.”

“You know what, never mind,” Iwaizumi replies in a flat tone, turning away to gobble down the last of his popsicle. He knows Oikawa is being a dumbass but he thought he’d torment him a little, since it had taken a heap of courage to put himself out there and utter those words sincerely. “I take it back. You can date yourself.”

“Wha—nooooo,” Oikawa exclaims, yanking on Iwaizumi’s jacket and shaking his arm frantically. “I’m kidding! I want to date you too! I want to be boyfriends, Iwa-chaaaan.”

“Quiet,” Iwaizumi shushes, silencing him with a gentle gaze. “We’re outside. And I was joking.”

He shifts to angle his body towards Oikawa and when he speaks again, it’s with a fondness he’s never felt with anyone else, “You’re so insufferable, but I fell for you, didn’t I?”

A blush spreads across Oikawa’s face as he whispers, “I guess you did.”

In spite of his previous composure, Oikawa suspects he could spontaneously combust right now. The silence is unbearable, his heart is pounding in his ears, his hands are clammy with sweat, and Iwa-chan is _so close_.

He had leaned in, covering Oikawa’s hand with his own, all the while trying to calm his hammering heart.

“Can I?” he murmurs, pine-coloured eyes searching hazel ones.

Oikawa nods.

From this moment onwards, if Oikawa were to think back to his first kiss with Iwaizumi, he would always be reminded of soda-flavoured popsicle.

Their first kiss is sweet, so very sweet, two flavours melding at the meeting of their lips. But it’s not all Oikawa will remember. Iwaizumi’s lips are softer than he imagined them to be, gentle and moving against his own hesitantly but seamlessly. Their fingers burn against each other’s, just as how their faces are flushed with heat.

When they break apart, lips moist and hearts full, Iwaizumi inhales a shaky breath and Oikawa swallows. It’s not their first kiss with anyone, but none of them have put such carefree smiles on their faces before.

A bond between two friends evolves into something more, something profound, on a quiet night in fall, as two boys remain oblivious to the troubles that will soon come their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are they eating popsicles in late fall? Because I thought it’d be more romantic to kiss after eating something cold and sweet than hot and savoury. 
> 
> Anyway, name origin time. Oikawa’s mother’s name is written as 石奈, which consists of the kanji for stone because, as we will find out in future chapters, she’s someone who stands her ground and is stubborn to a fault.
> 
> As for Oikawa’s father, Kazeyo, which his mother mentions at the beginning of the chapter, his name is written as 風世, a combination of the kanji for “wind” – as in to be as free as the wind – and “world” – as in to have the world in your hands.
> 
> We’ll get to see more of them, especially Oikawa’s mother. Stay tuned!


	6. luxury vs. necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new characters!!
> 
> Warning: This chapter has sexual content so if you're uncomfortable with that, you can stop at "The sliding doors seal them into a more private space..." but if you want to stop at where it really gets serious, then stop at "Oikawa nods, and falls back against the sheets."
> 
> I hope you enjoy this crazily long chapter!!

“Hey, sorry,” Iwaizumi pants as he tries to catch his breath from running the moment Kyoutani dropped him off by the road to the train station exit that Oikawa was already waiting at.

“Late on the first date?” he tuts in mock disapproval. “I should penalize you for this.”

While he was fashionably dressed in a navy blue pea coat and beige sweater, it’s Iwaizumi who was fashionably late.

“My bad,” Iwaizumi apologizes. His trusty (not so much anymore) bike had died on him when he was on his way to pick Oikawa up, its engine sputtering tragically before rolling to a sad stop. He had to activate emergency services a.k.a. his co-worker Kyoutani who was on shift on a Sunday to drive the truck over and send his beloved Honda to the auto shop. The blond high school kid had grumbled but otherwise came in clutch to not only pick up Iwaizumi’s scooter but send him to the train station where he had texted Oikawa to meet instead. “I had no idea my bike would fail me today.”

Their first date, of all days. He had explained his predicament to Oikawa while Kyoutani was driving, and Oikawa was in enough of a good mood to simply send him a barrage of angry and shocked emojis, and showing up at their meeting location before Iwaizumi. Now, they’re at Harajuku station, which was teeming with friends, couples and hobbyists on a Sunday afternoon.

“Why don’t you get a new one?” Oikawa suggests, remembering how the scooter wasn’t in its most pristine condition, with the paint chipped off in multiple places and worrying clunks interspersing their ride. “That old thing was practically falling apart.”

Iwaizumi rolls his shoulders and says, “If it does, I think I’ll just stick to taking the train in the meantime.” He averts his gaze before adding, like he’s not sure if he wants to divulge it, “I’m actually saving up for a new bike. A proper one.”

“Proper?”

“A Kawasaki,” he admits sheepishly, then adds prudently, “Hopefully.”

“Fancy,” Oikawa lilts, finding Iwaizumi’s cautious optimism endearing. “I look forward to getting a ride on that.”

It incites a short laugh from the other boy, who manages his expectations with, “Not anytime soon. Anyway, let’s take the train.”

Riding the Yamanote line on a Sunday afternoon means subjecting yourself to an invasion of personal space as they both experience once they reach the platform. The queues are long and judging from the colourful, frilly attire that an unusually large number of them were donning, there must be some sort of cultural event nearby.

The waves of commuters push them along into the train carriage and although it’s not nearly as bad as the weekday rush hour, by the time everyone has piled into the train, there’s not a lot of space left to move freely.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are forced against the doors on the other side and a particularly burly man pushes past the horde of people, eyeing the space next to Oikawa. It’s not a very generous space.

Oikawa, being acutely aware of his hectic surroundings, turns away to avoid any form of contact. But before any part of the man’s large body can brush against Oikawa’s, Iwaizumi steps in between them fluidly, grabbing Oikawa by the elbow to guide him away. He positions himself steadily, back facing the stranger and straightens his spine.

Iwaizumi’s firm touch had startled him a little, and when Oikawa faces him again, he finds himself standing almost chest-to-chest with him. With their minimal height difference, he barely needs to glance down to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, a natural doggedness in them. Oikawa conveys to his personal shield a wordless thanks. The proximity of their bodies is laughably small and Iwaizumi forces himself to look away, a bead of sweat forming on his temple.

Even with all the layers, Oikawa knows his companion is nothing but hard muscles underneath. Chasing that train of thought will inevitably lead to hot collars and itchy fingers, so he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asks quietly, and Oikawa nods without a word.

Sensing his discomfort and not entirely sure if it stems from their closeness or not being used to taking packed trains, Iwaizumi checks the space behind him before shuffling back a bit.

Instantly, a hand shoots out to grasp his sleeve and a breath catches in his throat when he realizes it’s Oikawa’s.

“Iwa-chan,” he says above a whisper and offers nothing else except a beseeching expression.

Understanding what he wants from the way he utters his name, Iwaizumi steps forward again to close Oikawa in a safe space. He still feels his fingers hanging off his jacket sleeve, and it makes his pulse spike when Oikawa glides those fingers down his hand to link their fingers together.

Iwaizumi’s never one for public displays of affection, but in a hidden corner of a crowded train where everyone minds their business and is too busy to spare two university students a second glance, can it really be counted as that in the first place?

And if they do keep their hands linked throughout the rest of the ride, nobody needs to know but them.

* * *

“Iwa-chan,” the questioning tone is already apparent in Oikawa’s voice. “Why is our first date at an IT Expo?”

“Because my laptop is ancient and I think it’s going to crash anytime soon,” Iwaizumi answers as-a-matter-of-factly, striding towards the large hall with a sign that reads ‘IT EXPO 20XX – GREAT DEALS IN STORE’ of the Tokyo Convention Hall.

“Why can’t you get one another day?” Oikawa asks him petulantly, having to raise his voice towards the end of the sentence so that he can be heard above the cacophony of yells from salespeople trying to entice customers with attractive deals.

“Today’s the last day of the expo,” Iwaizumi rationalizes, heading towards one of the brands he was interested in and Oikawa hastens his pace to keep up.

“You know Iwa-chan,” he presses on. “Couples usually visit the amusement park or aquarium when they’re on a date.”

Abruptly, the Engineering student stops in his tracks and Oikawa wonders if he’s finally decided to leave this raucous place and take him to somewhere more befitting of a first date. Iwaizumi pretends to consider his next plan of action but settles with telling Oikawa, “…Too bad.”

He continues walking with purpose, ignoring the affronted squawk from Oikawa. He honestly needed a new laptop, having encountered the Blue Screen of Death one time too many recently, and he needed a reliable one for a major project that’s coming up. The IT Expo is a one-stop event where he can purchase IT equipment and gadgets at good prices and he might have waited till the last minute to visit it, so he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Resigning himself to a date at the IT Expo because he knows Iwaizumi has his mind set on this, Oikawa trudges along.

“Why did you ask me along anyway?” he wonders. “In case you didn’t know, I’m not very knowledgeable in this area. I’m sure Hanamaki or Matsukawa would know better.”

Iwaizumi turns to regard him coolly.

“Maybe I just want you around.”

Heartbeat skip count: 1.

“Then—!” Oikawa stammers, missing the flash of a smirk on Iwaizumi’s face. Only that smug bastard can reduce him into a blushing mess in a split second. He masks his embarrassment with an empty threat, “I’m going to be very annoying about it until you buy a damn laptop and we leave this place for a proper date!”

As it turns out, Oikawa wasn’t very annoying at all. In fact, he gets pretty invested in laptop-shopping with Iwaizumi, as if something had spurred him into action. When he thinks about it, this is a place of familiarity for Iwa-chan, who is giving him a peek into his life by taking him here. Oikawa, who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, never visited a fair like this, and for Iwa-chan to want his company today, the least he could do is to savour the authentic experience.

Also, the scene here reminds him of that festival night, where there were people shouting over one another to lure customers their way. An idea forms in Oikawa’s mind, an attempt to put into practice what Iwa-chan has taught him.

“The highest I’ll go is seventy five thousand yen,” Oikawa asserts indifferently to the befuddled saleslady just as Iwaizumi returns from the peripherals section nearby.

“Umm…” she trails off nervously, astonished by his audacity and unrealistic standards. “The price is already discounted…”

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi demands, detecting something wrong with the scene before him.

Oikawa leans back to whisper in Iwaizumi’s ear proudly, “I’m driving a hard bargain. Watch.”

He whips back to her and says definitely, slapping a hand down dangerously close to the laptop in question for dramatic effect, “Seventy six thousand yen.”

“I’m afraid we can’t give further discounts,” she smiles uneasily at him and glances at Iwaizumi, hoping that he’s reasonable enough to understand that literally everything at this expo is already heavily discounted.

Realizing what Oikawa is doing, Iwaizumi groans and drags his dumb boyfriend away from the booth, giving the saleslady an apologetic nod.

“Are you _haggling_?” he strains once they’re out of sight.

“Yeah Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies innocently. “I was trying to imitate what you did before, but she’s very persistent.”

“What I did before?” Iwaizumi repeats with a frown, then rolls his eyes at the recollection. That three thousand yen fan at the festival. He releases an exasperated sigh and tells him, “You don’t do that here.”

“Why not?”

Iwaizumi tries to make out whether Oikawa was pulling his leg, but he concludes that he’s 100% ignorant.

“The prices here are all slashed by a wide margin,” he explains, returning to his usual tone. “Mostly because they’re old models and stock that the stores are trying to get rid of.”

“Oh,” Oikawa simply says, looking thoughtful. Iwaizumi knows he’s got it bad when he wonders how someone can be so dumb and cute at the same time.

“I mean, you _can_ bargain,” he concedes in a murmur. “Just not like that. At least ask for a freebie or something.”

For Oikawa who has led a sheltered existence, going out of his way to haggle for a morbidly low price for a laptop is a gesture Iwaizumi cannot help but appreciate. He’s making an effort to fit in – a force of habit for Oikawa Tooru although this time, Iwaizumi believes it’s from genuine intentions – and despite the mortification he put him through, Iwaizumi finds it endearing that he’s even trying.

“Okay Iwa-chan!” he perks up, spying another opportunity to prove his prowess. “What kind of freebie do you want? Tell Oikawa-sama and I’ll get it for you!”

“I swear to god Tooru, if you embarrass me again, I will leave your ass here,” Iwaizumi warns, stalking away until he notices that Oikawa isn’t following. Puzzled, he wheels around to catch the surprised expression Oikawa is wearing, his feet firmly planted on the ground. “What?”

Heartbeat skip count: 2.

“You called me ‘Tooru’,” he says, sounding a little breathless.

“Oh. Yeah—I did,” Iwaizumi mutters lamely. He didn’t realize he had called him by his given name. It sort of—slipped out in the spur of the moment. Suddenly self-conscious that he might be crossing a line, he asks hesitantly, “Is it bad?”

The vehement shake of his head brings in a flood of relief.

“It’s not bad,” Oikawa reassures with a pretty smile. It’s not bad at all.

* * *

After a couple of hours assessing which model was the most value-for-money, Iwaizumi successfully purchases a new laptop at an affordable price (including a free set of earpiece _and_ 32GB thumb drive courtesy of Oikawa). He had stuffed his haul into his backpack so that he can discard the bulky box it came in, keeping his hands free.

By the time they’re making their way out of the Tokyo Convention Hall, it was already in the late afternoon, leaving not much time for a proper date according to Oikawa’s standards. Most of the typical dating attractions would be closing anyway. But Oikawa didn’t seem to mind that their date was spent wholly at the IT Expo, if his pleased smile is anything to go by.

Iwaizumi likes that look on him and all of a sudden, he feels a little guilty that he hadn’t taken Oikawa out on a date to the amusement park or some other equally first date-worthy place. He doesn’t subscribe to cliché nonsense like this, but if it’s what Oikawa wanted, he supposes he wouldn’t mind giving it a shot.

He’s tempted to touch him—graze his fingers or brush his hair out of his face—and promise him a real date, but he doesn’t get the chance to for someone calls out to him.

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yaku? Kai,” he greets in surprise at the two familiar faces, completely unaware that that they were walking in their direction. “Hey.”

“Yo Iwaizumi,” Kai Nobuyuki says mild-manneredly as Yaku Morisuke, the one who had called his name, returns with a “’Sup. What’cha doing here? I thought you’d be working.”

“I have the day off,” Iwaizumi tells him. “We were just at the IT Expo – needed a new laptop.”

He hasn’t forgotten that Oikawa is standing beside him, wondering who he’s struck a conversation with, so Iwaizumi explains, “This is Yaku and Kai. We stay in the same block.”

“It’s kind of a residential building for Hosei students,” Kai supplies and Oikawa’s mouth forms an ‘o’ in understanding, learning that the other units in the building are in fact occupied by Hosei students.

“And this is—” Iwaizumi continues, intending to introduce Oikawa, but Yaku interjects.

“Aren’t you in the Business school?” the mousy-haired boy asks, cocking his head to the side and regarding him with interest.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces amiably, too cognizant of the fact that his reputation is a university-wide one to be fazed by Yaku’s rather abrupt conjecture. “And yes, I am in the Business school.”

“Hehhhhh,” Yaku drawls and grins, quirking an eyebrow at Oikawa. “You’re that guy right? Your dad’s the CEO of some big sports company.”

Iwaizumi’s ready to step in if the conversation goes awry but luckily, Kai is there to balance out Yaku’s blunt nature. “Don’t get too excited now.”

The shorter student ignores his friend’s quip, large brown eyes darting from Oikawa to Iwaizumi inquisitively. Without so much as a warning, he directs a cheeky question at the latter, “Are you guys on a date?”

Yaku’s a good friend, but he can be quite straightforward and usually, Iwaizumi deals with that without a problem since he finds similarity in that aspect, but when it comes to a topic like this – so out of the blue no less – he’s a little out of his element. Iwaizumi’s blindsided to the possibility that perhaps it’s not totally out of the blue, that Yaku must have caught something for him to pursue this line of thought.

He’s beginning to feel awkward under Yaku’s curious cat-like gaze and Kai’s sheepish smile isn’t really helping matters as well. But before Oikawa feels obligated to answer, Iwaizumi speaks up.

“Yeah…” he admits, peeling away from his friend’s Cheshire grin and hazards a quick glance at Oikawa who meets his eyes without apprehension. “We’re…together.”

Yaku rolls his shoulders and leans back with a fascinated expression on his face, like he expected the answer but it still surprises him nonetheless. “I feel like you owe us a story,” he jokes.

“Maybe next time,” Iwaizumi replies good-naturedly.

“By the way,” Yaku pipes up, nudging Kai for reinforcement. “Are you going to Yamamoto’s tonight?”

Naturally, Oikawa’s interest is piqued at the prospect of a social gathering, especially since Iwa-chan’s such a caveman, and he hears Iwaizumi say, “I heard. I’m not sure if I’m going though.”

He had gotten wind of the get-together when he met Bokuto in the lift the other day and his fellow Hosei schoolmates have been sending reminders in the group chat. It was for tonight and Iwaizumi normally makes an effort to attend these things if time permits. But today he was on a date with Oikawa, and he was thinking of spending the rest of the night with him.

“Aww come on, go!” Yaku urges. “Yamamoto said he managed to reserve a big space for us!”

“Maybe they’d like more time on their date,” Kai points out but Yaku is undeterred.

“Then come after your date!” he suggests cleverly, pulling Kai to be on their way before Iwaizumi can decline further. For good measure, he throws the Business major an easy-going grin, “Come along too Oikawa, it’ll be fun!”

* * *

Later at night sees Iwaizumi and Oikawa entering the bar that Yamamoto Taketora’s cousin owns. Yamamoto’s flatmates with Yaku and Kai and sometimes when the Hosei students are up for a more lively night, he asks his cousin for a favour in saving them a space with the high bar tables near the games. Like any other weekend night, the bar is filled with people, mostly students and young workers, upbeat music booming through the speakers.

It’s a contemporarily-designed establishment, where the bar’s located right in the centre, surrounded by low tables that branch out into high tables for larger groups. At designated areas of the bar are several entertainment options like a foosball table, dart boards, beer pong tables and a row of arcade machines.

Iwaizumi meanders through the crowd to bring Oikawa to the far end of the bar, their usual spot and where most of his friends are. As he approaches, a certain pink-haired friend pops his head out.

“Iwaizumi!” he welcomes with a grand gesture. “You’re finally here—ohohoho, I see you’ve brought your plus one. Showing off already?”

He waggles his eyebrows at his housemate and pulls out a high chair for him, Matsukawa doing the same for Oikawa.

The Engineering student is saved from replying when Oikawa says, “Hi guys! Nice to you see you again.”

It’s the first time he’s seeing them after their get-together at the movies and he’s a little relieved that there are at least people he’s met before here and frankly, he had enjoyed their company to want to hang out with them again. The idea of being left alone in the company of Iwaizumi’s friends make him feel jittery. He’s not sure if he can get along with them – like _really_ get along with them – as his past experiences with hanging out with friends of friends of friends haven’t been the most pleasant. Usually, all he got out of those events were crude jokes, a hangover and a lighter wallet the next day. But the fact that these are Iwaizumi’s friends helped to ease a bit of that tension.

“Likewise,” Hanamaki says and tips his head at him, before flickering his eyes to Matsukawa. “Matsukawa, is it me or does Iwaizumi look like he’s sooo smug with his new boyfriend?”

“Shut up, I do not,” the victim of tonight’s teasing says immediately. If this is how it’s going to be, Iwaizumi will regret telling them that he’d gotten together with Oikawa (although them finding out was only a matter of time). As if their expressions of disbelief and bouts of laughter when he broke the news to them were not enough, now Iwaizumi has to deal with their constant teasing and knowing them, some suggestive remarks.

“Nah,” Matsukawa returns. “It’s nothing compared to when he’s smiling at his phone when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Oh, Iwaizumi is already regretting.

“Aww Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaims delightedly. He lives for nuggets of information like this since Iwaziumi would never be the one to tell him. Oikawa’s determined the make allies out of the two of them by tonight.

“Can you two not antagonize me the minute you see me?” Iwaizumi grouses. It’s true, he had been smiling to his phone on numerous occasions, too caught up reading Oikawa’s animated messages and forming his own snarky remarks to remember that he was living with two nosey and opportunistic flatmates.

“Not today,” Hanamaki says without missing a beat.

“Oikawa, how’s dating our resident shut-in like?” Matsukawa continues. “All he does is study and work we’re worried he doesn’t know how to be a proper boyfriend.”

“Nosey aren’t we,” Iwaizumi returns.

“We’re just looking out for you,” the Social Sciences students says airily.

“Don’t worry Mattsun,” Oikawa answers proudly. “I make up for where Iwa-chan lacks.”

“So…just a pretty face?” Hanamaki quips, an impish smile stretching on his face. Just because he’s Iwaizumi’s boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s spared from the playful jabs. In fact, it’s _because_ he’s Iwaizumi’s boyfriend that he receives the same treatment.

“Cute.”

“Wait,” Hanamaki suddenly says, pinning Oikawa with exaggerated look of shock. “Did you just give Matsukawa a nickname?!”

Oikawa smiles easily, “You get one too if you like, Makki.”

The pink-haired student fakes being shot in the chest at having been bestowed a personal nickname by _the_ Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi snorts at how the both of them can be so dramatic. He’s about to get up to buy some drinks for Oikawa and himself at the bar, where Yamamoto was mixing some, until another one of his block mates, a tall guy with unruly black hair, stops short at their table.

“Oya? I’d never thought I’d see the famous Oikawa Tooru here,” comes a smooth, velvety voice.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa says, sitting up straighter in his seat and staring wide-eyed at the unexpected addition. The other three, who are equally dumbfounded, turn their heads in unison from one person to the other.

“What, you guys know each other?” it’s Hanamaki who breaks the stunned silence.

Kuroo Tetsurou lives in the unit above them, with Kenma, Bokuto and Akaashi. He’s in the School of Biological Sciences, is as smart as he looks, and has wits that could rival Oikawa’s. Right now, he looks like he could have a go with him, as if meeting the Aoba Johsai successor rekindles some kind of sentiment between them. Iwaizumi hasn’t decided if he should be concerned.

“High school friends,” he says casually, setting his drink down on their table, but corrects after thinking twice, “Or acquaintances. We weren’t that close.”

He knew Oikawa’s in Hosei as well (who didn’t?) but he hadn’t counted on bumping into him here, in a gathering for friends only. Oikawa exhales through his nose, turning away sharp eyes from Kuroo, but otherwise doesn’t deny it.

Hanamaki narrows his eyes sceptically at them, “So why are you two acting like you just ran into a scorned ex-lover?”

“Me and him?” Kuroo asks in a tone of mild disbelief. “God no, ours is more of an old, friendly rivalry, right Oikawa?” When Oikawa’s response is a flippant shrug, he adds, “I’ve been faithful to one person and one person only.”

“Oh?” that incites a reply from Oikawa, whose lips slowly form a smirk. “Did you finally work through your repressed feelings for your childhood friend?”

Kuroo’s crush on his long-time friend all throughout high school was like an open secret and for some inexplicable reason, he never acted on them and left their friendship in an eternal limbo, finding a safe space in the greyness of their relationship.

But taunting him about this was simply a derivative of their so-called rivalry. Kuroo is good-looking, intelligent and charming, which made him one of the more popular boys in school – just like Oikawa. It was only natural for him to compare himself to Kuroo, especially when he had accepted the discord with poise and egoism. And perhaps it’s merely a lame competition between two adolescents, but it had quickly formed the dynamics of their acquaintanceship before either knew it.

Now, almost a year after they’ve held a decent conversation with each other, it seems they both haven’t forgotten about their high school run-ins. Except meeting again under different circumstances and hopefully with greater emotional maturity could bring about positive change.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Kuroo answers smugly, resting an elbow on the table. “You might even be surprised to know that it was Kenma who was actually head over heels in love with his best friend. Right Kenma?”

He turns on his heel to face the blonde expectantly, who was minding his own business at the next high table.

“No. Go away,” he mumbles, too engrossed in his phone to spare him a glance and probably a little peeved that Kuroo had dragged him out here on a Sunday night when he has Design Theory and Research class tomorrow.

“We’re getting there,” Kuroo assures the four friends and claps his hand to change the topic. He tilts his head at Oikawa with interest, “So? By whose association are we graced with your presence?”

“By being Iwaizumi’s boyfriend,” Matsukawa snickers.

Kuroo’s head twists to Iwaizumi so fast it could give him whiplash.

“Fuck off.”

“That’s what I thought!” Yaku pops up out of the blue to exclaim, making Hanamaki jump in his seat.

“Iwaizumi!” Kuroo practically shouts, scandalized. “I didn’t know you’re into the rich, pretty boy type!”

Despite all the attention being on him now, Iwaizumi stares at them with a straight face and admits, “Me neither.”

“Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa protests as Kuroo barks out a laughter.

“Oi guys!” someone yells from across the room, interrupting their conversation. It’s Terushima Yuuji, the Mechanical Engineering student with an undercut and piercing who lives on the same floor as Iwaizumi. He’s standing at one of the foosball tables, with only one other player, Nishinoya Yuu. “We need more players!”

Apparently, Kuroo has elected to hang around the four of them tonight and he, along with Hanamaki, herd Iwaizumi and Oikawa over to the foosball table while Matsukawa offers to get more drinks for everyone. The Bio Science major sabotages Oikawa to play against Iwaizumi, putting him next to Nishinoya.

Once the introductions are out of the way, Terushima declares, “Losing team pays for drinks!!”

What entails is a chaotic game of reds vs. blues. Oikawa barely has the tiny ball in his sight half the time and Terushima is an extremely energetic player. With Kuroo throwing distracting comments and jeering at the side, it devolves into a shouting match instead of a proper game and soon, Oikawa finds himself twisting the handles with no real strategy, too busy trying to keep his laughter in check to focus on scoring anything.

In the end, while Noya is a capable defender, it’s Terushima’s and Iwaizumi’s team who scores the most points. Oikawa’s prepared to lose a few thousand yen the honour the deal, but Noya cuts in, “Nah, it’s your first time here! Drinks are on me!!”

Terushima hollers before Oikawa can say anything. He seeks out Iwaizumi, who shrugs with an amused smile, like telling him that this is how they are.

They’re not spared from spilling the details of how they got together, as Kuroo badgers them for the full story while they nurse their free drinks. For obvious reasons, they don’t divulge everything, but they can’t escape from at least giving them a gist of what went down. Iwaizumi will forever be smug about the fact that it was Oikawa who confessed first.

Recounting the incident is not as mortifying as it is, because the Hosei students don’t make a big deal out of it. Sure, they interject with their usual jokes and teasing commentary, but they’re otherwise harmless. It’s a far cry from the times he’s with people who his mother believes should be in his social circles, and Oikawa can vouch that it’s because of their self-entitlement and self-centredness. God, did he used to be like that?

“Oh, they’ve set up the beer pong table,” Kuroo suddenly announces, neck craned towards Bobata and Tanaka who are preparing the shots. Turning back to them, he says with a gleam, “I believe it’s time for a game.”

When they approach the readied beer pong table, Bokuto and Akaashi already there as well, Kuroo doesn’t hesitate to tell them, “Oikawa wants to play.”

The brown-haired student glares at him but doesn’t back down from it.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto yells even though the mild-mannered boy is right beside him. Bokuto points a finger at Oikawa, amazement lacing his alcohol-leaden voice. “He’s as pretty as you!”

“Yes Bokuto-san,” Akaashi placates and offers Oikawa an apologetic look, who was caught off guard by Bokuto’s candid exclamation. Well, this Akaashi person _is_ rather attractive. “Sorry, he’s a bit drunk.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow in understanding.

“Okay, so I’m sure you know the rules,” Kuroo starts, walking up to grab a shot glass. “Except if either of you lands a ball in the other’s cup, someone _else_ takes a shot.”

He hands the glass to Iwaizumi, who has no choice but to accept it.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi says effortlessly. If only Kuroo knew that Oikawa has good aim, then maybe he won’t be grinning like that. Akaashi’s decent at beer pong, but he’s confident that Oikawa will land more shots than him. So if it comes down to it, Iwaizumi will leave the bar more sober than Bokuto. Wait, he already will.

Five throws into the game, out of which Oikawa sinks four into Akaashi’s cups, Kuroo’s laughing but at the expense of this flatmate. Oikawa puts out a low hand for a high-five, a pleased smile gracing his features. Iwaizumi slaps it, his guess proven right.

“Bokuto-san, are you sure you’re okay?” Akaashi asks, concerned with how much he’s swaying on his feet. He didn’t even want to play given that Bokuto already had a few drinks too many, but the spirited student insisted and between the two of them, Akaashi didn’t want to be the one downing shot after shot. It was dangerous for _both_ of them to be drunk.

“Don’t worry Akaashi!! I got you!” he shouts drunkenly and promptly throws his head back with another shot.

He staggers with the force of it, and Akaashi reacts instantly to steady him. Deeming him unfit of playing further, he gets Bobata and Tanaka to substitute them and supports Bokuto to a seat. Oikawa and Iwaizumi take on their new challengers with practiced ease.

At the back, Kuroo folds his arms and surveys the scene before him. Humming contemplatively, he comments, “You know I honestly couldn’t believe that they got together, of all people. But now that I think about it, I can see it. They’re like peanut butter and jelly. You wouldn’t think they’d taste good together, but they do.”

Beside him, Kai chuckles agreeably and says, “I guess?”

The couple is finally allowed to leave (earlier than everyone else) when they say that they’ve got classes tomorrow (Kenma throws Kuroo a dirty look) and they pick up their jackets before saying their goodbyes.

“Hey Oikawa,” Kuroo calls out before they go out of sight. The brown-eyed beauty meets his roguish smile with a curious gaze. “We’ll see you around yeah?”

“If Iwaizumi doesn’t make sure of that, we will,” Hanamaki pipes up and Oikawa can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys around,” he affirms, chest blooming with a warmness that he’s certain is not from the alcohol today.

They call it a night and someone yells out a ‘ _g’night!’_ as they head out of the bar. The coldness seeps through their open jackets the moment they step outside, a stark change from the heat and liveliness back there.

Iwaizumi lets his eyes linger as Oikawa buttons up his pea coat.

“You didn’t drink too much right?” he asks, just to make sure.

“I’m good Iwa-chan,” he answers blithely, although there’s a faint pinkness in his cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll send you home,” Iwaizumi offers in a low voice and leads them in the direction of the train station. Oikawa wonders if he should take it as a form of shyness or affection.

Their train ride home is interspersed with light banter and Oikawa’s eager questions about Iwaizumi’s living arrangements and his block mates. It turns out it’s not a residential block officially for Hosei students, but it’s near campus, has cheap rooms for rent and word got around such that most tenants turned out to be Hosei students. They rented the three to four-bedroom units on the upper floors while those on the lower floors were occupied by students from other nearby universities.

Iwaizumi thought there was nothing spectacular about his off-campus lifestyle with his block mates, but Oikawa listens in rapt attention. He’s also more giggly than usual, and Iwaizumi chalks it up to the alcohol’s doing.

They stop at the train station closest to Oikawa’s house and he lets Iwaizumi walk him for a few minutes before stopping them at the side of the street that’s lined with multi-storey houses. Oikawa tells him that it’s still a while to go since his house is nestled deep within the rows of terrace houses and just walking him here is fine. Iwaizumi would have walked him all the way and risk getting lost on the way out but he doesn’t insist because Oikawa wanting to part ways here somehow makes him a little uneasy even though it shouldn’t. In any case, Iwaizumi thinks it’s not a bad thing to take things on step at a time.

“Thanks for today,” Oikawa says in a breath of cold air, their figures partially hidden in the silhouette of the street lamp.

There’s not a soul around in the quiet neighbourhood, the only thing accompanying them was the sporadic cricket sounds coming from the bushes.

“Yeah…” Iwaizumi starts, flickering his eyes to a random car in the distance before meeting Oikawa’s again. “If you want, I’ll let you know when they do this again.”

“I’d like that,” Oikawa says simply. Reminiscent of that time with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, Oikawa finds them he likes being in the company of Iwaizumi’s friends. These people, from different walks of life and with different quirks, have made him feel welcomed with their friendliness and harmless jokes.

He knows he’s had a lot in life, but he has never thought he had it all, and he can’t believe this is what he’s been missing out for half of his first year in university. He wishes he’d made better choices.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he continues when Iwaizumi didn’t say anything in return.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi utters lamely and watches Oikawa smile an easy smile before going on his way with nervous energy. He feels the urge to reach out and touch him one last time for the night, and maybe say that thing he was about to say before they were interrupted by Yaku this afternoon.

It’s not a bad thing to take things one step at a time, but he’ll be darned if he doesn’t take this one.

In two long strides, Iwaizumi closes the distance between them by catching Oikawa at his elbow and tugging him towards him, a hand reaching up to hold his jaw so that his lips can fit against his. The sudden movement paralyzes Oikawa into a wordless daze but as soon as the fact that Iwaizumi is kissing him hits him, he closes his eyes and his jaw goes slack in Iwaizumi’s gentle fingers. His skin however, buzzes with a muted electricity that travels all the way down his spine.

The kiss is clumsy, Iwaizumi’s lip pressed between Oikawa’s barely opened ones. It’s chaste, and far too short for either of them to properly relish it. The darker-haired student pulls away with a quiet exhale, keeping their faces inches apart as he murmurs, “Um, I’ll take you somewhere.”

Realizing that it came out strange from the lack of context, Iwaizumi winces and remedies in hasty phrases, “I mean, not now. But I’ll take you on a date – a proper one. I promise.”

Witnessing Iwa-chan being a stammering dork is truly a sight to behold and Oikawa can’t hold back a small laughter.

“You better,” he teases, but follows with a more sincere tone, locking eyes with Iwaizumi through lowered lashes, “But you know, I didn’t mind today. I want to experience everything Iwa-chan has to offer. That said…you’ve been taking me out so much. It’s my turn next yeah?”

That would be a nice change of pace, Iwaizumi thinks, so he replies with a mirthful, “Yeah.”

* * *

Their next date – Oikawa style – turns out to be a weekend trip to the country club that his family’s a member of. It’s not _any_ country club, it’s a prestigious club for members of society who have contributed greatly in the areas of business, arts and letters, sciences and sports. As Iwaizumi found out on the train ride here, the club offers a myriad of recreational facilities, world-class performances and lavish accommodation. And of course the Oikawa family just happens to be VIP members here.

Oh, did he mention that they came here in a _luxury train_ where they had a private compartment and butler service? Why do rich people have to be so extra?

In this very moment, it’s the single thing he can think about when he steps foot into their presidential suite, which is the Oikawas’ preferred tier of accommodation. Behind the large mahogany doors lies the most spacious living room Iwaizumi’s ever seen first-hand. A marble table sits in the middle of it, surrounded by high back chairs and decorated with some fancy flower centrepiece.

“Neat huh?” he hears Oikawa gush, who goes straight for the windows that overlook tranquil greenery. Given its exclusiveness, the club is located on the outskirts of Tokyo, and for the weekend, they’ll be free from the hustle and bustle of city life. The room is bathed in natural sunlight and Oikawa settles himself in front of the windows, soaking it in.

Iwaizumi on the other hand, heads for the sliding doors at the end of the room, intent on exploring every inch of their lodging and passing by a grand piano that’s planted in the centre of the room, a fully-stocked kitchen and a break area. Slipping through the doors leads him to hands-down one of the most extravagant bedrooms he’s come across. The king-sized bed is topped with viridian satin sheets, a thick duvet and matching-coloured fluffy pillows. The open curtains grant him a similar picturesque scene, perfectly viewable from the cushioned chairs that flank a coffee table.

Flopping on the bed in favour of anything else, Iwaizumi shivers when the comfort of laying on an 800 thread-count bed sheet engulfs him. He feels like he can sink through these sheets or sleep on them for twenty four hours, even if his legs are hanging off the edge. It must be nice being this rich. As he spreads his arms out on the duvet, he fantasizes about living such a blessed existence, one that’s free from a single worry about having enough money. Iwaizumi snorts. Maybe in a different life.

There’s another door to his side, and he reckons it’s to the bathroom. The university student decides not to explore that yet, choosing to savour the softness of the sheets under him and the feel of how enormous this bed is. He’ll have time to check out how maddeningly impressive the bathroom is later.

“Iwa-chan, get up,” Oikawa’s voice interrupts his reverie. “Now’s not the time to sleep. We got a whole bunch of stuff to do.”

He lifts his head, the rest of his body a slave to the bed, and sees the amused smile that Oikawa is sporting. Dropping his head back, Iwaizumi says to the cove-lighted ceiling, “If this is just the room, I wonder what the rest of the club is like.”

“Are you overwhelmed?” Oikawa asks, padding towards him on the carpeted floor.

“Ask me again when the day is over.”

“It’ll be fun I promise! I know the room is a little over the top, but that’s because my parents prize comfort over anything else,” the fellow first-year explains and assures, “We won’t be doing anything extreme today. I think.”

“Comforting,” is Iwaizumi’s dry reply, head slanted to peek at Oikawa.

Oikawa chuckles humourously and marches over to grab his boyfriend’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go!” he urges as he attempts to pull Iwaizumi’s deadweight. Needless to say, he’s not very successful as Iwaizumi is both heavier than him and stronger than him. But the comfortable boy finally relents by pushing himself off the bed with his elbows.

His partner stands over him, a worriless glow in his chestnut eyes and Iwaizumi acts on an impulse to yank him in. A small sound of surprise escapes Oikawa as he’s pulled with the force of it, and he instinctively hikes a knee up onto the bed to keep his balance. Without Oikawa realizing it, Iwaizumi has fitted his legs between his, and he takes his other hand to tug him downwards.

There’s no resisting his careful guidance, and Oikawa’s body immediately flushes where he sits on Iwaizumi’s lap. The situation has taken a turn too quickly for him to process it, so he doesn’t manage anything but a whine when Iwaizumi kisses him slow and sweet. It melts into a more fervent kiss when the darker-haired boy presses their lips together more insistently, parting his mouth to swipe at Oikawa’s with his tongue.

Oikawa’s mouth opens in a sharp exhale, and he’s hit with the sensation of Iwaizumi’s tongue against his, hot and slippery that makes his back completely stiff and shoulders tense. He’s not afraid, no—he’s just nervous.

It’s only when Iwaizumi slides a hand under his clothes that Oikawa snaps out of the haze to rest his palms on Iwaizumi’s chest, breaking the kiss.

“W-Wait,” he rasps, swallowing past the lump in his throat and willing his heartbeat to return to normal. “We don’t want to be late.”

Iwaizumi cocks his head to regard him quizzically, his face rosy from their spur-of-the-moment kiss. “Do we have an appointment?”

“Yes, I planned a day of activities for us,” Oikawa tells him, sliding off his lap carefully. Although disappointed, Iwaizumi doesn’t want to waste a day of good fun (hopefully), especially when it seems like Oikawa had put in effort for today.

“What do you have planned?” he queries, fixing his shirt. He keeps his tone light to make Oikawa feel at ease and tries not to let it show that he found it odd that Oikawa was so jumpy. Isn’t he supposed to be smooth with these sort of things? Iwaizumi assumed he is.

“It’s a secret,” Oikawa says, returning to his usual self. Catching the look of scepticism on Iwaizumi’s face, he adds gleefully, “Don’t worry, it’s a sport we’re doing first.”

Still, Iwaizumi can’t stave off the wariness because Oikawa says he can keep this attire on and what kind of sport doesn’t require you to change out of a sweater and long pants?

* * *

Apparently it is golf.

And Oikawa discovers, to his mild disbelief and amusement, that Iwaizumi has zero affinity with the sport.

“Iwa-chan, you’re surprisingly terrible at this,” he voices as they watch Iwaizumi’s shot scarcely missing the rough. It’s been more than half an hour after their tee time and it’s becoming apparent that the Engineering student has challenges with grasping the art of the sport.

“What makes you think I’d be good at golf?” he shoots back as they make their way towards the golf cart. Oikawa had given him a crash course and guided him on different types of golf swings but the whole thing simply wasn’t as intuitive to Iwaizumi as other types of sports.

“Because you look like you’re good at sports in general?” Oikawa answers, hopping into the driver’s seat. Although at this rate, Iwaizumi will probably be getting a triple bogey for this hole.

“Golf is too technical,” he grouses. The movements don’t come to him naturally, the weight of the golf club feels unfamiliar in his grip, and there’s too much time to think before he makes every shot. “I prefer ball sports or team sports.”

Oikawa hums thoughtfully. “Maybe I should have brought you to play tennis instead,” he muses. There are tennis courts here in the country club as well.

“Do you know how to play tennis?”

“A little. But I’m more experienced in golf,” he reveals. Having brought Iwaizumi to one of the beginner courses, which are markedly smaller, they’re almost reaching where the ball landed. And it seemed like Iwaizumi was holding back on his swing. “After all, the golf course is the place where deals are closed.”

Grinning, he jumps off the cart and retrieves their clubs, handing Iwaizumi a different one that would be more suited for this shot. The other boy doesn’t notice the difference and moves to take his position.

“Does your dad bring you along for such occasions?” he wonders, shuffling his weight from one foot to another.

“Rarely,” Oikawa says, leaning against his golf club and studying Iwaizumi’s posture. “Usually, he gets his associates to take me instead. Iwa-chan, don’t tuck your hips in too much.”

He corrects his posture the way Oikawa had taught him and tries to aim his shot while mulling over his words. It seems like Oikawa’s connection with the sport stemmed from something as contrived as business entertainment sessions, and with his company’s associates no less. Compared to Iwaizumi, who grew to love sports because of the casual basketball matches and batting sessions with his dad in his younger days, it adds another layer to their juxtaposing experiences. Come to think of it, Iwaizumi realizes Oikawa doesn’t talk much about his father.

It’s difficult to concentrate on his swing while his mind is wandering, so Iwaizumi botches up that shot a bit.

“Do you like it? Golf?” he asks without looking at where the ball fell.

It lands on the green but rolls back down onto the fairway.

“I’m good at it…” he trails off, thinking about how close that shot had been.

“But do you like it?” Iwaizumi repeats.

Oikawa gives it a proper thought, fiddling with the golf club. He supposes his liking for golf was derived from the satisfaction of winning – something he did often enough that it sustained his interest in it. But take that away and he might be left with reluctant obligation and he understands that emotion far too well.

“The sport itself? Not really, no.”

“What do you like?”

Iwa-chan is making him think a lot today, but the answer to this question comes to him quite easily.

“Kyuudou,” he answers, recollecting high school days spent perfecting the art of kyuudou among students who cared more about how it made them look cool than understanding the ways of the sport. In spite of that, he always took comfort in practising alone during the spare pockets of time he had, until a shoulder injury put him out of it.

“Hm,” Iwaizumi says contemplatively and keeps his eyes on Oikawa’s figure as he tries to imagine him in the uniform, feet apart and arms raised with the bow curved in front of his frame and string taut against his face – an elegant sport with hidden intensity. Iwaizumi throws up the golf club to hold it by the shaft, smirking as he comments, “Suits you.”

* * *

They stop playing after Oikawa demonstrates his skills by scoring a birdie. Their next stop is more relaxed but another thing Iwaizumi considers a rich-people activity, namely, a wine-tasting class. It turns out there is no wrong time to drink wine. The class is full of people dressed in refined clothes and endowed with expensive-looking jewellery, acting like they’ve already been tasting wines from all the famous regions for years. Unsurprisingly, Iwaizumi feels out of place.

But the two partners keep to themselves for the most part, Oikawa listening intently to their sommelier and Iwaizumi muttering about how all the wines taste the same to him. There are actual steps to this, where the wine-tasting takes place at the third step and he made the rookie mistake of skipping straight to it, attracting several judgemental looks as a result.

As the class progressed, Iwaizumi’s eyebrows are about to meet each other at how complex wine-tasting is. From wine swirling to tasting techniques and the art of wine pairing, it’s a whole lot of new information to process. You could even superimpose his face on the math lady meme and it’d be an accurate representation of his state of mind throughout the class. Oikawa on the other hand, is able to keep up with the sommelier and even expounds on what she’s saying to aid in Iwaizumi’s understanding.

By the end of the class, a red-faced Iwaizumi is certain he only retained 20% of what he learned, of which he will remember 10% after next week. He did enjoy the wines, though he’s more of a beer kind of guy.

He’s waiting for Oikawa to come out of the restroom (he left halfway through the class to go) when a lady too absorbed in her mobile phone bumps into him from behind.

“Sorry,” he apologizes out of politeness even though it was clearly her fault. The lady looks up sharply and Iwaizumi thought she was going to chew him out unreasonably when he notices the flash of irritation in her eyes. But it vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, and she visibly softens when she takes a good look at him.

“Ara, you’re new,” she points out, obviously trying to strike a conversation. Her eyes flicker down to Iwaizumi’s form before meeting his, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Are you a new member?”

Iwaizumi is slightly taken aback by her random initiation but figures it’d be rude not to reply. With how she’s batting her long lashes at him, she appears to be keen on prolonging their chit-chat. She’s definitely older than him and it’s easy to tell that she’s about two decades his senior although her complexion fares better than a typical middle-aged woman’s.

From the way she’s dressed, a deep purple cape blazer draped over a V-shape white satin blouse, paired with pants that accentuate her long, slender legs, she exudes an air of elegant confidence.

“I’m a guest,” he answers conversationally.

“How are you enjoying the facilities?” she continues. “They’re rather spectacular aren’t they?”

She takes a high-heeled step towards him, flipping her blond hair over a shoulder. It’s a step too much into Iwaizumi’s personal space, especially when she’s just a stranger.

“Yes…” he agrees distractedly, reacting with a small step back.

“You should consider applying for a membership. There are _many_ things to enjoy here,” she purrs, extending a manicured hand rest on his bicep in a too-friendly gesture. Why she chose to enunciate that word, Iwaizumi can only imagine.

It’s not his imagination though, when he feels her giving his arm a light squeeze.

“There’s no need…” he tells her awkwardly, and pulls out of her touch gingerly. Why is Oikawa taking such a long time in the restroom? If he’s fixing that already-perfect hair of his, Iwaizumi’s going to give him hell.

“What does your family do?” she presses on, undeterred. “Carpentry?”

Good lord. Iwaizumi recognizes an attempt at flirtation when he sees one. Normally, he’d be flattered, but in this case…not so much. How do you tell a straight woman who’s old enough to be your mother that you don’t swing that way?

“Um…”

“Fujita-san!” a voice that Iwaizumi cannot be more relieved to hear cuts in. Oikawa comes bounding over to them, trademark smile plastered on his face. “It’s nice to see you here again. I see you’ve met my companion.”

“Ara? He’s your guest Oikawa-kun?” the woman named Fujita asks mild-manneredly, dropping her hand to her side and stepping away.

“That’s right, I brought him here to enjoy the club facilities,” he says cordially, making it a point to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Iwaizumi, who noticeably relaxes in Oikawa’s presence. The VIP member had witnessed the uncomfortable exchange from a distance away, and when he recognized the infamous Fujita-san, he knew he had to save Iwa-chan. Not allowing this dangerous episode to continue, Oikawa adds quickly, “We must be on our way as we have a reservation. I’ll see you around Fujita-san.”

He bids her a courteous farewell with a wave before slipping his hand into Iwaizumi’s and leading them away. It’s only when they turn around a corner that Iwaizumi blurts, “What was that?”

Oikawa releases a sharp sigh and answers, “Fujita-san has a reputation for…being in the company of young men.” He shoots Iwaizumi with a pointed look from the corner of his eyes and says, “Especially stern-looking, muscly guys like you.”

It’s not even a baseless rumour. She’s been seen behaving intimately with men considerably younger than her on multiple occasions, all of them tall and masculine, and she doesn’t bother being discreet about it.

“So she’s a sugar mummy with a type?” Iwaizumi remarks. He didn’t have a doubt that she was rich enough to afford boy toys.

“I guess you can say that,” Oikawa mutters, then lifts his head abruptly like he remembered something. “Also, she can come on very strongly, so you can thank me later.”

Iwaizumi considers that with a contemplative nod. “What does her family do?”

“Leather-crafting.”

Looking back at what had transpired, she _is_ rather attractive for a middle-aged woman, objectively speaking. And Oikawa had been so impatient to get them out of the situation that it’s actually funny. Iwaizumi doesn’t resist the itch to tease him.

“Sounds like you just denied me of an opportunity.”

A scandalized gasp escapes him. “Don’t you dare!”

* * *

“Why the hell must we use a different set of cutlery for each course? I could eat all of it with just one,” Iwaizumi grumbles after Oikawa explained to him what all two spoons, two knives and three forks were for.

The restaurant that Oikawa made a reservation at is fancy and all, but Iwaizumi would have been content with a simple, private meal that perhaps doesn’t require him to change into a smart casual outfit. For the evening, he’s in a sweater and plain button-down shirt, matched with dark jeans that’s rolled up at the hems above the same pair of boots he always wears. Oikawa thinks he cleans up pretty well and doesn’t fail to raise that to him. Iwaizumi can say the same for Oikawa (although it’s already a well-known fact) who elicits an appreciative gaze with his mustard-coloured merino wool sweater and midi knitted cardigan.

“If you think that’s complicated, wait till you hear about how there are rules to seating people at a table,” Oikawa snorts. He pokes his fork into his main course, a black Angus dry-aged New York sirloin steak, medium-cooked, and licks his lips at how deliciously tender it looks.

“Ridiculous,” Iwaizumi snorts. “How do you expect me to eat peas with a knife and fork?”

His attempts to stab his fork into his peas, with increasing difficulty, which forces a light chuckle from his companion. “Like this,” Oikawa says and demonstrates with his own cutlery. It’s admittedly easy, but Iwaizumi would much rather scoop a spoonful of it and gobble that down.

In any case, the more he digs into his herb-roasted chicken with peas and potatoes, the less Iwaizumi gripes about the superfluous ways of the bourgeoisie and the rest of the evening passes by pleasantly. The restaurant itself is cosy and intimate, the lights brought low and tables well-spaced apart to accord each party with sufficient privacy. Oikawa had specifically requested for the window seat so that they can enjoy the night sky outside. There’s a candle in the middle of their table, which casts soft orange glows on their profiles. The place is almost full with posh-looking couples and besuited business people but in their own quiet corner, it feels like it’s just the two of them.

Until it’s not.

“Oikawa?”

That alone makes him lift his head sharply and Iwaizumi’s never seen such a sour look settle so quickly on Oikawa’s face before.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” he practically spits, glowering at someone behind Iwaizumi, who turns in his seat to finally see the person Oikawa had spoken so severely about before.

Ah, he does have an intimidating aura about him, he supposes.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he says in lieu of a greeting and yeap, his voice is deeper than the Pacific Ocean probably. His companion gives him a nod before excusing himself, the both of them in impeccable suits. Iwaizumi’s eyes follow him as he strides over to them, regarding Oikawa with an expression that hardly conveys any surprise. “You haven’t been coming for a while.”

Oikawa makes a face at that, “Are you keeping tabs on me? Because it’s creepy if you are.”

“No,” he states plainly and Iwaizumi’s beginning to understand what Oikawa meant when he mentioned that any attempts at sarcasm will go over his head. “I come here quite often and some of the members have been talking about your absence.”

“It’s none of their business,” Oikawa says haughtily, turning his nose up at him. “And none of yours either.”

Iwaizumi thinks he’s being snootier than usual but apparently that’s his usual attitude when dealing with Ushiwaka. Anything more civil than that would be out of the norm.

“You seem well,” it compels Ushiwaka to point out, but he hadn’t meant for it to be a change in topic, just a mere observation.

“Thanks, but—”

“Hello,” he faces Iwaizumi before Oikawa can continue. If he wasn’t so shocked, he would have given him an earful about cutting people off.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says back.

“I’m Ushijima Wakatoshi from Shiratorizawa,” he greets, mindful of his manners when meeting someone for the first time.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he introduces, assuming that Shiratorizawa is the company he’s associated with (do people here introduce themselves like that?) and for the lack of a connection to a multi-million organisation, he adds the only thing that comes to mind in that second, “From Miyagi?”

Ushijima stares at him oddly while Oikawa stifles a snort of laughter. Well, he didn’t know what else to say!

“Who are you associated with?” Ushijima prompts. This wasn’t out of politeness as much as it is out of curiosity. Oikawa hadn’t visited the club for a considerable amount of time and all of a sudden he brings a guest on a dinner for two? If it had been someone Ushijima recognized, he would have left them alone, but this person was someone he’d never seen before so naturally, his tendency to gather intelligence kicked in.

“Ugh, not everyone is associated with someone or some big-name company Ushiwaka,” Oikawa retorts. He folds his arms on the table and pins Ushijima with a frosty glare. “Now can you leave us alone? We were having a nice dinner.”

Aware that he’s not likely to learn anything more (a shame because he’s not learned anything except that Oikawa seems to be involved with someone), Ushijima nods at him and bids, “Excuse me then. Enjoy your dinner.”

Once his stoic figure is out of earshot, Iwaizumi says, “So that was Ushiwaka,” now able to put a face to that nickname.

“A delight isn’t he?” Oikawa comments sardonically, wasting no time in resuming his dinner.

“He’s an odd one,” Iwaizumi admits. He goes back to enjoying his chicken and studies Oikawa’s expression, which has simmered into a light crease in his forehead that slowly smoothens out as he stuffs his mouth with juicy pieces of steak.

He tries to eat his meal with the same fervour, but falls short after mulling over that short exchange with Ushijima. He was clearly here for a business task and everything about him screamed affluent, ambitious and promising, just like every golfer on the course, every participant of the wine-tasting class, every guest at this restaurant and every member of this elite country club. If Iwaizumi was being honest, he would have bet that Ushijima had expected him to be affiliated with a renowned company or be the son of a well-established family, as he would assume Oikawa Tooru’s companion would be.

If Ushijima had found out that it was nothing further than the truth, he’s certain the conversation would have turned awkward. Because Iwaizumi knows his place in society – he comes from a middle-class family, his parents work simple jobs back in Miyagi, and he’s got nothing to his name. He’s out of a place in the world of the rich, a sore thumb sticking out among the well-off members in this club, and a stark contrast to one charismatic and capable Oikawa Tooru.

Now, Iwaizumi Hajime never belittles himself. He might know his place in society, but he doesn’t feel he’s any less because of it. That said, he knows he and Oikawa are worlds apart in terms of their background and social status (as today has exemplified, and as Ushijima’s presence had made him acutely aware of) and even if he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about it, he’s not sure if he can speak for Oikawa.

After hesitating a bit, he decides he doesn’t want that kind of uncertainty in their relationship.

“Are you sure it’s okay that you bring me here?” he starts, mindful not to come off too bluntly.

Predictably, Oikawa gives him a nonplussed expression at the sudden line of questioning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there are a lot of people you know here,” he elaborates. “Is it okay if they know we’re…?”

“Of course it’s okay,” he answers, a little too quickly. The corners of his mouth turn into a frown. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Iwaizumi assures. “I don’t care if people know. It’s just—people talk you know?”

His friends knowing about them was one thing, but for Oikawa’s social circle to know is an entirely different story. He hopes Oikawa understands that people will gossip about them, and he doesn’t need a second opinion to know that news like this will spread like wildfire. More often than not, gossip can be nasty and twisted into a gross mistruth, and while Iwaizumi has nothing to lose, he would hate for Oikawa to be entangled in something unsightly.

Oikawa sighs. “Iwa-chan, people always talk.”

They talk about his grades, his hobbies, his involvement in Aoba Johsai’s business, his sexuality, so they’ll undoubtedly talk about who he’s seeing too. In fact, tongues will definitely go wagging at this particular topic.

“But that night after the bar, you didn’t seem like you wanted me to walk you all the way home, even though I would’ve,” Iwaizumi points out, not accusatorily. If Oikawa doesn’t mind people finding out about them and talking, why did he act like he didn’t want them to be seen by his family or neighbours? “I thought maybe you didn’t want your parents to find out about us or something.”

His hazel eyes widen by a fraction at the realization that his fear that night had been misconstrued as embarrassment.

“I—that—it’s not what you think!” Oikawa exclaims, steak forgotten. “My mother has the habit of waiting up and I haven’t told her about us yet and she’s a really critical person and I didn’t want our first date to end badly.”

The words tumble out of his mouth in his urgency to clear up Iwaizumi’s misunderstanding and it’s only when Iwaizumi’s startled expression softens into a tickled one that Oikawa relaxes.

“It’s okay,” the older boy promises. He didn’t think Oikawa would get so flustered, and having heard his explanation is ample in dispelling the uncertainty. “I’m not mad or anything.”

In spite of that, Oikawa feels that it wasn’t enough to make Iwaizumi fully understand the weight of his emotions.

“I’m not ashamed to be with you,” he emphasises, eyes blazing with conviction. “Whether it’s because we’re guys, or because we’re so different. You told me before not to let people give me shit for liking something. Well I like you. I really do.”

There’s a lot more he feels about why he’s in love with Iwaizumi, but it’s something he cannot yet put into words. For now, this will have to do.

“I know idiot,” the boy with nothing to his name but a heart full of love from someone he rescued on a late night in fall says, endearment hanging on the edge of his voice.

* * *

For their last activity of the day, Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to a piano recital. A famous, young pianist was in town and he heard that some prominent business magnate who has a strong inclination towards classical music had specifically requested for her performance.

So here they are, seated on the velvet chairs of the exquisite recital hall among classical music-lovers. Oikawa isn’t an avid fan of the genre, but he can appreciate it. After all, years of learning the piano has created some sort of attachment to the instrument and the beautiful melodies it creates. While this isn’t his passion, it’s something he’s familiar with, having grown up with it, and he wanted to let Iwa-chan experience it as well despite not knowing if he would enjoy it.

But any doubts about that dissipate once he peeks at Iwaizumi, who wears a sense of wonderment so clearly on his face. It’s not a wide-eyed, open-mouthed kind of awe, but a quiet amazement at how fingers can fly over black and white so deftly, how the strings can produce such delightful music. Iwaizumi’s familiar with the sounds of a piano, but he’s never been to a recital and hearing it first-hand is quite the ear-opener.

He had no idea that the soft sounds climbing into a crescendo, intermingled seamlessly with staccatos and mezzos, could soothe him into a trance, could smoothen the hard lines of his face. Oikawa notices of course, and with a pleased smile he settles back against his seat comfortably to devote his attention to the prodigy on stage.

He considers today’s date a complete success as far as time spent with Iwa-chan alone is concerned, notwithstanding Ushiwaka’s unwanted appearance. When they’ve finally retired to their suite, tired from a day’s itinerary, Iwaizumi heads straight to the open kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water. Oikawa takes a little longer to remove his shoes and socks at the generous entranceway but finds a filled glass waiting for him on the kitchen island anyway.

“So Iwa-chan, did you enjoy yourself?” he can’t wait to ask, eager to hear Iwaizumi’s thoughts about the date he’s planned.

The only response he receives for a few moments is Iwaizumi gulping down water until, “Yeah. I did.”

Oikawa beams from ear to ear and presses on, “Which part was your favourite?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes glance upwards, replaying the day in his mind as he takes off his jacket distractedly. He had sucked too much at golf, he could have enjoyed the wine-tasting without the class, dinner was satisfying but troublesome, which leaves…

“The piano recital.”

“Hmmm,” Oikawa hums appreciatively and keeps the fact that he saw Iwaizumi marvelling throughout the performance to himself. In that second, an idea forms in his mind and he meets Iwaizumi’s green eyes with bright brown ones before walking purposefully to the grand piano in the living room.

Shucking off his cardigan to throw it over the back of the couch, Oikawa seats himself at the piano, adjusting his position to accommodate his legs. Iwaizumi watches him intently, slightly taken aback at the sudden decision to play, but not as much as he is interested.

His legs take him next to Oikawa, who arranges his fingers above the piano keys and looks up at him, “I’m not a pro, so don’t expect this to sound anything like what we’ve heard.”

Iwaizumi nods wordlessly, situating himself right next to the piano and resting an elbow on the flat surface of the sleek instrument. The musician hovers long fingers over the keyboard and fills his lungs with air before he presses down, the beginning of a piece he’s well-accustomed with drifting across the room.

The notes from an imaginary scoresheet come to him naturally and his movements are graceful over the keys. He remembers when to press a gentle weight on the pedals, and soon, he lets himself be carried by the music his fingers make. To a trained ear, he probably sounds different from the talented musician on stage, but Iwaizumi can’t tell the difference and between hearing one or the other play, it’s obvious who he would pick.

Oikawa invests 100% in all that he does, and this is no exception. As Iwaizumi watches him, he commits this to memory, thrilled that he has the experience of Oikawa playing the piano for him—eyes focused and hands nimble—as a treasured recollection. Besides the fingers that dance over the ivory keys, Iwaizumi takes in lowered lashes, pink lips, and a well-built form hidden beneath wool.

Soon, the last notes of the piece fade away, and Oikawa waits for the vestiges of the echo to die out before lifting his head to Iwaizumi, who allows himself to smile.

“What’s the name of this piece?” he wonders. “It sounds familiar, but I never knew what it’s called.”

“Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat,” Oikawa tells him proudly. It’s a piece he’s played frequently and one that he’s confident in enough to play in front of Iwaizumi.

The darker-haired boy steps away from the piano to sit with his back to the keyboard, and Oikawa scoots to give him space, their shoulders almost brushing.

“It’s nice,” compliments, meaning it.

“I messed up at one part you know,” Oikawa chuckles, placing his fingers over black and white again. He plays a portion of the piece, a little after the chorus, correcting himself where he had fumbled previously. It’s not like Iwaizumi could tell, but he listens anyway. Oikawa stops before he plays into the next page of the imaginary music sheet and announces with a grin, “There. A not-so-perfect piece by yours truly. I don’t let anyone hear me play, so you’re welcome!”

Iwaizumi returns his pompous smile with an affectionate gaze. The universe can tell him that there’s a world of differences between them, but he doesn’t care. Oikawa Tooru is, to him, a complete and utter dork hiding behind walls of secrets that, if he’s lucky enough, fall away to allow him a glimpse.

“Beautiful,” Iwaizumi murmurs, catching Oikawa off guard. With the way he looks at him, he’s not sure what exactly he’s referring to.

“Iwa-chan?” he blinks, aware of how the air has shifted around them.

In those few quiet seconds, they find themselves curving into each other, breaths warm against their mouths. It feels like forever until their lips meet in a careful kiss but once they touch, Iwaizumi shudders with a surge of longing in his veins. He presses his lips to Oikawa’s firmly, deepening the kiss. His hands reach for him, unable to keep them to himself any longer. They cradle his face, fingers nestled in his russet hair, as he pours a little bit of his overflowing emotions into the kiss.

It grows wetter, hotter, even without tongue, and when Oikawa subconsciously straightens his back to lean further into Iwaizumi, the latter has to tilt his head back. As their kiss becomes more heated, continuing as they are now is beginning to look challenging. Oikawa breaks their kiss to lock eyes with Iwaizumi, the hunger in his irises mirroring his. Their breaths come out hot and heavy, and no words are needed to know that they both want to take this further.

Oikawa swings a leg over the seat to climb into Iwaizumi’s lap, and the Engineering student secures him around his hips before lifting them up to carry him to the sliding doors. He’s heavier than he looks, Iwaizumi notes, and it’s the kind of muscled weight he likes to feel in his arms. The legs around his hips tighten and the grip on his shoulders is strong. Iwaizumi chances a glance at Oikawa while he navigates to the bedroom, but his eyes dart away. He must be nervous. For some reason, it makes his blood thrum.

The sliding doors seal them into a more private space and Iwaizumi climbs to the centre of the large bed before lowering Oikawa onto the viridian sheets. His arms fall away from his shoulders, his long legs sliding over satin between Iwaizumi’s straddling ones. Like this, Oikawa is mesmerizing, and Iwaizumi is pulled into his coy gaze, kissing him once more. He slants his mouth against Oikawa’s, eager to run his hands over bare skin, to make him lose himself to the pleasure.

Clothes are in the way of that, so he hikes Oikawa’s sweater up his torso, oblivious to how his stomach jerks, pulling it over his shoulders and off his head. Oikawa sits up to accommodate the action and watches his sweater drop, hanging on the edge of the bed. Iwaizumi wastes no time in relieving him of his remaining white shirt, tugging it off his body so that it joins his sweater in a careless heap.

Iwaizumi makes him hyperaware of how his upper body is entirely exposed when he pushes him gently onto the bed with an open palm. His back meets the soft fabric and he’s not given any time to react when Iwaizumi closes in with an open-mouthed kiss, licking into Oikawa’s mouth to slide their tongues together. The boy with the upper hand drinks in the small sounds that Oikawa makes at the back of his throat, one hand in Oikawa’s hair and the other splayed over his chest, caressing the skin with a touch of reverence and roaming over his heart.

The hitch in Oikawa’s breath is caught in Iwaizumi’s mouth. His blunt nails are digging into the expensive sheets and his heart is pounding in his ears. He knows he wants this, but everything is happening too fast for him to collect his wits. And he has grounds for being like this. Everything about Iwaizumi is hot, assertive, experienced and Oikawa—well, Oikawa…

“Your heart’s beating really fast.”

Iwaizumi has pulled away to regard him quizzically, a hand still resting on the left side of his chest, and wonders why it has been thudding away.

Oikawa swallows audibly.

“I-I’m fine,” he lies, averting his gaze, and scolds his own heart for giving him away. He just needed a bit more time.

He wants to continue, not ruin the rhythm they’ve created, so he reaches up for his partner. But Iwaizumi leans back on his thighs, studying Oikawa’s face carefully.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, skimming gentle hands down his arms to stop at his wrists. “It’s just me.”

“It’s not _just_ you,” Oikawa argues quietly, feeling his face start to heat from a creeping blush. He fidgets with his belt loops, awkward hands itching to move. If he wasn’t so embarrassed by this, he would have said a thing or two about how there’s nothing _‘just Iwaizumi’_ about him. He’s easily half the reason he’s such an anxious mess.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi humours, appreciative of that sentiment but no less enlightened on Oikawa’s state. “But you’ve done this countless of times. Why are you so nervous now?”

“I—” he doesn’t manage to finish and can’t bring himself to meet Iwaizumi’s perplexed eyes. He’s certain he’s making a pathetic expression now and Oikawa involuntarily brings up his arm to hide his burning cheeks. This is all too telling and he was hoping his behaviour wouldn’t put him in such a spot.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, properly bewildered, and pulls Oikawa’s arm away from his face to notice how red-faced in embarrassment he is. Suddenly, it clicks in his mind why he’s been so nervous—when they first got here and now. It dawns on him why Oikawa’s heart beats a mile a minute, why there’s a hint of apprehension in those hazel eyes of his. “Don’t tell me…” Iwaizumi trails off, still having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea, “…that you’ve never done this before?”

There’s no answer but a quiet huff from the boy underneath him.

“This is your first time?” Iwaizumi breathes out.

A pause, before Oikawa finally admits, “Yes…” and frowns at the incredulity apparent on Iwaizumi’s countenance. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“Holy shit.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to sound so surprised,” Oikawa sulks. He understands that with a reputation like his, people are bound to assume that he can easily pick and choose from his throngs of admirers, and that it won’t be hard to find a different person for a hook-up every week.

They can’t be further from the truth, because even though he’s lost track of how many times he’s been approached and propositioned, he’s only had a few flings. And in those few flings, he’s never let them go all the way. Because they were just that—flings. Sure, he’s been touched before and he’s done the same to others, but he’s never found the desire to truly let them in.

It was an act too intimate for him to share with a stranger.

“But rich-kid, good-looking, I-can-have-anything-I-want Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi lists off, reeling from shock. “—is a _virgin_?”

“What’s wrong with that!” Oikawa sputters, blush spreading to his neck.

“No no, I’m not making fun of you,” Iwaizumi appeases, bending forward to get a better look at how flustered Oikawa is. “It’s just— _(cute? Unexpected? An honour?)_ —why?”

The million dollar question. Oikawa shifts on the bed and confesses, “I just never found someone I liked enough.”

The reason is too simple to do him justice. It sounds like nobody’s ever met his impossibly high standards but it’s not as superficial as that. With all the craze about popping your cherry and having the time of your life in university, you would have thought Oikawa would be in on that. But sex is different. Fooling around is good and dandy but sex is trust, reciprocation and—

“And it’s scary isn’t it?” he murmurs, daring to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes this time.

“Oh,” he lets out softly. He realizes then that when most people hold the concept of sex in careless regard, Oikawa views it with a delicate heart. It makes him take a figurative step back. “We don’t have to do it now you know.”

“I want to,” the statement comes without hesitation, from a boy whose hazel eyes burn with resolve and lingering trepidation. Oikawa has propped himself up on one arm, still nervous, but Iwa-chan is no stranger. “With you.”

Iwaizumi licks his lips. “Okay. Tell me…if you want to stop anytime.”

Oikawa nods, and falls back against the sheets. Above him, his partner adjusts his knees on each side of his hip, balancing himself on one hand while the other comes up to brush his hair out of his face. Tonight, he’ll take his time. He doesn’t have anything to prove, but when Oikawa is practically trembling with restless yearning, the urge to take care of him is almost too much for him to bear.

His callous fingers trace the line of his jaw and Iwaizumi closes in to kiss Oikawa sweetly. He responds with equal fervour, hands finding their way to his shoulders. His heart beats like a persistent drum, pulse spiking when Iwaizumi’s hand travels down his chest and past his navel. Breaking apart, the older boy checks Oikawa's reaction before reaching down to unbuckle his belt, the sound of a zipper following soon after.

He tugs on his pants gently first, and when Oikawa lifts his hips to cater to him, Iwaizumi pulls the article of clothing off, leaving him in a pair of grey boxer briefs. There’s a clear tent in them which Iwaizumi tries not to be fixated on, lest he makes Oikawa self-conscious. This will feel more comfortable with less clothes, so he peels his sweater off and makes quick work of his buttons. He doesn’t make a show out of it, but Oikawa’s appreciative gaze is too inconspicuous to miss. It’s still there when his pants join his discarded clothing at the end of the bed. Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow at Oikawa, who breaks into a sheepish smile. Admiring your boyfriend’s body, especially when it’s made of hard lines and muscles, is no crime.

The smile vanishes as soon as Iwaizumi covers it with a quick kiss, moving down to press one on the side of his mouth, another one behind his ear, a line of them along the column of his neck, and random ones down his body until he stops above the waistband of his boxer briefs. Iwaizumi glances up at Oikawa, seeking permission that’s given in the form of a careful nod.

Fingers dip past the line of his boxer briefs, grazing his skin as Iwaizumi drags them off. His cock pops free, already considerably hard, and Iwaizumi covers the length of it with a warm touch. Oikawa exhales sharply and Iwaizumi sits up to watch how his breaths come out quick and short, all the while pumping him languidly. He strokes him to full hardness, until his erection is curving into his stomach. With practiced fingers Iwaizumi holds him lightly, moves in a comfortable pace, and swipes the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, smearing pre-cum over the slit.

It sends a shiver through Oikawa’s bones, and a surge of pleasure when he feels a hot mouth closing around him. His russet eyes snap open and the muscles in his core tighten as he looks down at Iwaizumi, lips wrapped around his aching member, tongue peeking out to swirl around the head. He sinks down on him purposefully and doesn’t need to look up to know that it had made Oikawa throw his head back with a whine. Iwaizumi ignores the hands that bury themselves in his hair as he continues to suck Oikawa off, angling his head differently each time he goes down and quickening his pace, mildly aware of the wet sounds that echo in this luxurious room.

Oikawa’s hips jolt, and he squeezes his thighs around Iwaizumi.

“W-Wait,” he says breathily, tugging on his hair to force him off. “Not yet…don’t make me come yet.”

Iwaizumi acquiesces, pulling off with a soft ‘pop’ and licking his lips. Now that he knows Oikawa is more at ease, he shuffles off the bed to fetch a condom and bottle of lube from his bag. Neither remark about how Iwaizumi had clearly prepared for this, because this particularly unfolding of events had undoubtedly crossed both their minds.

The sheets rustle with Iwaizumi returning and he meets Oikawa’s eyes before saying, “I’m going to prep you okay?”

Words escape him at that point, so he simply nods.

Oikawa lets Iwaizumi lead, nervousness melting into anticipation knowing that he’s in good hands. He bends his knees compliantly when Iwaizumi rests his palms on them, spreading them open and pushing them backwards. The blush returns as he lays completely bare and vulnerable, but he still watches with interest as Iwaizumi squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers.

His gaze is trained on those coated fingers, rubbed together to warm the viscous substance, as Iwaizumi shifts closer to kneel between Oikawa’s legs. They’re opened prettily for him, but Iwaizumi wants him in a position that will make this easier for both of them.

“Hold your legs up for me,” he instructs, guiding Oikawa to support the back of his knees by his palms. The inexperienced boy does as he’s told, but not without a telling pinkness in the tips of his ears.

Like this, Oikawa is beautifully exposed to Iwaizumi, who feels his dick twitch in his underwear. After surveying his condition, Iwaizumi touches the tip of his middle finger to Oikawa’s entrance, noticing the gasp that ensues. When he meets no resistance, he circles his finger around the pink hole, smearing lube over it. It’s not enough he decides, and he picks up the bottle to drizzle more over Oikawa.

The coldness of it evokes another sharp inhale, but Iwaizumi’s ministrations make everything too hot too quickly. He strokes tenderly and slowly, building up anticipation that roils low in Oikawa’s stomach. Soon, he pushes his finger in, which awards him with a whimper, and stops at the first knuckle to allow Oikawa to adjust to the sensation. A shaky sigh is an indication to continue, and Iwaizumi watches his finger disappear till the second knuckle.

Oikawa is deliciously warm and wet—and so incredibly tight. Iwaizumi can feel his muscles clench around his digit, so he moves it in one second and out the next to loosen him up. If he’s never slept with another guy before, just fingering him like this isn’t going work. Wanting to prep Oikawa properly so that this won’t just hurt, Iwaizumi lubes up his fingers again and presses his index finger to his rim.

“A-Ah…” Oikawa moans, willing himself to calm down as Iwaizumi works him with another digit. It burns painfully but gradually fades into a slight discomfort.

Although Iwaizumi allows him time to accommodate, it still rips a cry from his throat when he parts his fingers inside, stretching him even further.

“Relax,” he whispers, and Oikawa tries. But the sensation of Iwaizumi sliding his fingers in and out of him, scissoring when they’re buried deep within his muscles, stimulates him into a frenzy. His legs are shivering so much he’s beginning to lose the strength to hold them up.

“I-Iwa-chan—…” he practically begs.

Noticing the tremble in his legs, Iwaizumi hikes one back up by supporting the back of his thigh while he continues pumping his fingers into Oikawa. He straightens to gain more height over him, deciding to hook his leg over his shoulder to settle a hand on his hip, and twists his fingers so that he can curl them inside in a beckoning motion.

He bends forward to swallow the moans into his mouth, kissing him hotly and meets Oikawa’s tongue in wet slides. He realizes that Oikawa is rather flexible, with his leg pressed up easily against his body as they kiss. Iwaizumi files that fact away for now, moving down to catch one of his nipples in his mouth. His tongue laps at the nub hungrily and Oikawa must be sensitive from this too, from the moans that tumble out of him.

It’s all so much, Iwa-chan’s body flushed against his, his tongue around a hardened nipple, his fingers creating delightful friction inside him. Oikawa is positive his cock is leaking and he surprises himself when all he can think about is how much he needs more.

As if his desire was apparent to Iwaizumi, the darker-haired boy lifts his mouth away from Oikawa’s body and slowly pulls his fingers out. They come back out wet and slippery and in spite of how slow he goes, it drags out a startled cry from Oikawa, whose stretched hole throbs.

Iwaizumi’s own black boxer briefs come off, his dick fully hard and wanting to be inside. The condom packet rustles as it’s torn, and he rolls it down in swift motions. He lubes himself up first, spreading a generous amount of it on his covered length and more around Oikawa’s hole. Still on his knees, he lines himself at his entrance but before they touch, Iwaizumi regards Oikawa encouragingly, “You’re doing well.”

Oikawa wets his lips, the blood in his veins coursing like electricity. The preparation had been helpful, but surely Iwa-chan’s dick would force him open like nothing’s ever had before, surely it would hurt.

The first press of Iwaizumi’s cockhead is bearable, but when he pushes past the opening and sinks into his tight muscles, Oikawa finds it impossible to contain the loudening moans that spill out of his gasping mouth. He feels himself being stretched over Iwaizumi’s length, the burn so strong and hot that it sends a shuddering wave through his body.

It’s clear that this is Oikawa’s first time when the overwhelming feel of being entered reintroduces a dash of anxiety, and makes him forget to take it easy. His muscles inadvertently tighten around Iwaizumi like a barrier, and it becomes difficult to bury himself deeper.

“You’re tense,” he says, unfolding his hands on Oikawa’s shaking hips. He curves them over the jut of his bones, steadying him, and rubs soothing lines over the V of his hips. “Relax.”

A shuddering breath escapes his parted lips as he composes himself by evening out his breathing. Iwaizumi helps him by wrapping a careful hand around his neglected cock, pumping him in slow, solid strokes. When he can feel Oikawa relax around him, Iwaizumi pushes in some more, every inch of his dick disappearing into his entrance in tandem with his strokes. Oikawa never stops panting, nails digging into the skin of his thighs and body already layered with a sweaty glow.

By the time he’s fully hilted, the brown-eyed beauty is positively shivering, head thrown back into the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every harsh exhale.

“Wait…let me—” he pleads, voice raspy.

“Take your time,” Iwaizumi tells him, according him whatever he needs to adjust to his girth, to let the pain dissolve into pleasure.

Seconds tick by into minutes as Iwaizumi continues to pump him, and Oikawa is still breathing hard, chest rising and falling, dark eyes veiled by his hair. This is what he had been worried about—the way you put yourself out there to trust that the person before you won’t hurt you, the pain of being filled for the first time, the intimacy you won’t share with _just_ anyone. All of that stays true, but now Oikawa wonders why he had been so nervous when it’s Iwa-chan he’s doing this with.

Iwa-chan who knows him, who touches him patiently, who gives him all the time he needs to accommodate him, keeping himself buried warmly inside while pleasuring him unhurriedly.

It is only when he whispers, “Iwa-chan…you can move…” that his partner adjusts his position to lean over Oikawa. Iwaizumi settles an arm beside his shoulder, resting his weight there and leveraging it to rolls his hips forward once—gauging the expression on Oikawa’s face—then twice.

“Mm—!” Oikawa stifles a moan. In this position, he doesn’t need to hold up his legs for Iwaizumi. He wraps them around his waist, hooking his ankles behind his back, and his arms naturally come around Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades.

Iwaizumi grinds himself into Oikawa, but it’s so terribly gentle that Oikawa can feel every graze he makes against his walls, every ache melting into something sweet. It’s so unfair.

Oikawa feels amazing. His walls are so wet and soft, and Iwaizumi’s cock is enveloped in a buzzing warmth, sliding in and out of him more easily now than before. He’s so beautiful—a hazy gaze in his russet eyes, a fierce blush high on his cheeks, his twitching cock full and hard in Iwaizumi’s clever fingers. He reaches up to kiss him on the mouth, a thoughtful hint that he’s going to move things along.

It comes in the form of a quickened pace, though no less gentle, pleasure coiling in his gut. Iwaizumi accords the same attention to Oikawa’s cock, stroking him with greater urgency and timing it with each roll of his hips. The treatment makes Oikawa arch his back off the bed and he digs blunt nails into Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Iwaizumi remembers how he thought he should take things one step at a time, but maybe he should take things as they come instead.

The pumping of his cock and the thrusting in his walls are all too much for Oikawa to bear. Iwaizumi sets a torturous pace, bringing him so close to the edge. Pleasure builds low, rises like the slope of a hill, pools in his gut until he’s crying out — “ _I’m coming!_ ” — and spilling out of him in thick white ropes of come that smear across his torso and chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as he rides out the high, mind going blank, breath caught in his throat, and nails that are sure to leave passionate red lines across Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades.

Iwaizumi guides him through his climax, slowing down until the white fluid leaks out of his cockhead and dribbles down his shaft. Oikawa coming and heady with pleasure is truly a sight to behold, and it takes all of Iwaizumi’s restraint not to chase his own orgasm with reckless abandon.

Aware that Oikawa is still sensitive but unable to bring himself to fully stop, Iwaizumi drives into him, careful to keep his speed in check. He clenches his fists on each side of Oikawa’s face, head bowed in the juncture of his neck and grunts as skin slaps against skin.

Oikawa’s voice comes out in frenzied cries, the sounds they make filling the otherwise silent room. Iwaizumi feels Oikawa’s hole clench around him—the younger boy too stimulated to notice how his body reacts to the sensations—and that tight heat is what it takes for Iwaizumi to lose himself to the pleasure.

He grunts as he spills himself inside Oikawa, cock pulsing and chest heaving.

For a while, they stay like that, Iwaizumi on top of Oikawa, both of their pants loud and quaking in the room. The former seems to have it together more quickly, lifting himself up to slide out of Oikawa. He winces audibly, legs quivering as they fall onto the sheets. His first time completely wears him out, and he barely registers Iwaizumi pulling off the condom and climbing off the bed to pad to the bathroom.

All of a sudden there’s a warm towel on his stomach and Oikawa cracks his eyes open to see Iwaizumi wiping him down, still stark naked.

“You okay?” he asks, cleaning the come off his body.

Oikawa manages a nod. It had hurt, but when all is said and done, losing his first to someone like Iwaizumi Hajime makes his heart swell with happiness.

“Good,” he says fondly, lifting Oikawa’s leg to press the cloth to his hole, dabbing the remnants of their love-making away.

When he finishes his ministrations and returns to the bathroom to rinse the towel, Oikawa wonders if his muscles will be sore tomorrow morning. Somehow, the thought of it fills him with a sense of pride.

The bed dips under Iwaizumi’s weight as he shuffles closer. He lays on his side, facing Oikawa, and brushes his hair out of his face. A faint blush colours his cheeks and Oikawa peeks up at him shyly. Well, they did just make love.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Oikawa rasps, embarrassed that his voice still sounds like that.

Iwaizumi smirks endearingly. “Do you want to shower together? The bathroom is fucking huge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? S*x on the second date??? The horror. You have no idea how much p*rn I read/watched for research purposes. And I guess you can say Oikawa is demisexual here?
> 
> I was tempted to break this chapter into two because it got way too long but I wanted to show the contrast between the dates – Iwaizumi style and Oikawa style – so that happened. And Oikawa isn’t as strong as people make him out to be you know? He’s a softboi who has his own set of problems to work on, but luckily, he has reliable Iwaizumi to help him through it. That’s all I want to see in the manga tbh, Iwaizumi being his constant, unwavering pillar of support even after the time skip.


	7. the protected vs. the wronged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of problems, in four parts. Act I: doubt.

Today’s shift at the auto shop has Iwaizumi laying under a Toyota Sienta, inspecting its undercarriage. He dislikes this kind of jobs the most, because it’s trickier to find the problem when everything there is practically caked in salt and mud, but he thinks he’s found the source of his customer’s problem when he shines a light at a specific part of the chassis. Now he can really get to work, and it probably won’t take long.

Twisting his neck to the side and realizing that he left his toolbox on his service cart, Iwaizumi clicks his tongue irritably. He’s about to roll out from under the car until he hears footsteps approaching. It must be Kyoutani, the full-time worker who’s still on the clock with Iwaizumi.

“Kyoutani?” he calls out. “Can you pass me the ratchet? The three-eight.”

He holds out a gloved hand and before he registers that the shoes are not right for a mechanic, someone places a tool that is clearly not what he asked for into his palm.

Iwaizumi frowns.

“That’s not…” he mumbles, taking the silver tool anyway. He slides out on his creeper and picks himself up to confirm that it can’t be Kyoutani who had mistaken a wrench for a ratchet. He’s no amateur.

“Tooru? What are you doing here?”

“Hi Iwa-chan,” the other student greets with an easy smile. “Came to visit you.”

It’s a nice surprise to see Oikawa here. His stomach does a little flip at the sight of his unexpected visitor. They hadn’t met for the whole day, with Iwaizumi leaving for his part-time job right after classes. He peels off his gloves and joins Oikawa at the side of the car.

“Did you come from school?” he asks.

“Yeah. Had a project meeting,” Oikawa explains and scans the shop floor for his car. There’s one concealed by a silver cover so maybe it’s that. He had sent the less frequently used family car to the auto shop where Iwaizumi works, Ukai’s, for its regular maintenance but really it was simply an excuse to see him at his workplace. This time’s no exception. “So is the car ready?”

“You brought it in two days ago,” Iwaizumi points out. Honestly, when his co-workers saw that it was a university student at the wheel of the Lexus LS 600h L, it had caused quite a bit of a stir to his chagrin. “Besides, yours is just a routine maintenance job. I can do it in a day.”

“I’ll come back again then,” Oikawa says impishly. “So are you going to give me a tour?”

He had badgered Iwaizumi for one when he first came to the shop, but as one with a commendable work ethic, he had flat-out refused. It’s the evening now and no one else seems to be in sight, so maybe Oikawa’s in luck.

“This is it,” Iwaizumi says instead, shrugging towards the shop floor where a few other cars are parked. “This is where I work most of the time.”

“What about inside?” the persistent student asks, voice taking on a suggestive edge. His sharp brown eyes flicker past Iwaizumi to note that another floor adjoined this area, lights filtering through the gaps in the shut blinds.

“That’s the office and people are still around,” Iwaizumi answers. If he noticed the allusive way his partner was speaking in, he didn’t show it. “I can’t just bring an outsider to the office.”

“I’m not an outsider!” Oikawa protests.

“You know what I mean,” Iwaizumi says flatly.

“Fine,” he concedes with a slight push of his lips. He lets that matter rest, but picks up another one straight after. “Do you always wear your uniform like that?”

There’s a dissatisfied tone that he doesn’t bother hiding. Surveying Iwaizumi’s figure up and down, Oikawa must say he expected something else, something more tantalizing, especially when he had the luck to catch him working on a car instead of arranging parts or stock-taking. But Iwaizumi’s dressed properly in his vermilion red and white uniform, having only folded up his sleeves to the elbow with the top button undone.

“What do you mean? There’s only one way to wear the uniform and it’s like this.”

Oikawa makes an expression of mild exasperation. “It’s like a jumpsuit,” he all but complains, flicking the uniform where it’s unbuttoned. “Don’t you tie the top around your waist or something? You already have a shirt inside.”

He’s referring to the black shirt that clings to his body, its sleeves peeking out of the uniform. Oikawa reckons it’s some kind of thermal attire as it seems like the shirt and uniform are all he’s got to combat the cold while he works on the opened shop floor.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting but there’s a dress code here,” Iwaizumi says with a pointed look. Clearly, Oikawa has been influenced by Western shows and music videos if he thinks mechanics all tie their sleeves around their waist to show off their tank tops. That’s just dangerous. “If I wear this any other way, I’ll get it from boss Ukai.”

“Laaaaame.”

Iwaizumi arches a brow. “Did you really come all this way to harass me at work?”

“Maybe. Even though the uniform is a disappointment,” Oikawa teases, stepping closer to Iwaizumi and voice dropping low. “Iwa-chan is always hot.”

He doesn’t give him time to react when he presses up against Iwaizumi, invading his space to force him backwards. The part-timer balances himself on the ball of his foot before his back can hit the car door. Oikawa snakes his arms loosely around Iwaizumi’s waist, and Iwaizumi reacts instinctively by placing his hands on his elbows.

A devilish smirk is all he sees before Oikawa captures his lips in a hungry kiss. After they had sex the first time, it’s as if Oikawa had awakened his desires within. He’s not afraid to initiate, he’s bolder in the way they kiss, more assertive with his touches, sometimes to the point of being pushy—like now.

Oikawa pulls his lips between his, breaking apart for barely a second before sealing their mouths again and again. He presses their hips together and the act itself makes Iwaizumi’s dick jump. He finds himself clutching Oikawa’s elbows, torn between wanting to stop because he’s _still at work_ and returning the same intensity Oikawa is giving him. That jerk breaks their kiss with a soft smack and Iwaizumi curses himself for chasing those grinning lips.

“Tooru…” he growls. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Oikawa spreads their shared saliva over his lips. “We can go somewhere else,” he suggests, bringing their chests inches apart to pin Iwaizumi with gleaming eyes. “I can be quick.”

That implies that he intends to do _something_ to Iwaizumi—what he has in mind, Iwaizumi is extremely tempted to find out. But the rational side of him recognizes the risks they’ll have to take if he brings him to the cleaning closet or where they keep their spare parts.

“Why don’t you come over later?” he says breathily.

“I can’t,” Oikawa whines, nipping at Iwaizumi’s bottom lip. “My mother’s expecting me home tonight.”

“Iwaizumi, should I leave the parts here—”

The two lovers spring apart at the sound of a foreign voice but whatever there is to see has already been witnessed.

“Kyoutani.”

An awkward bout of silence ensues as the three of them regard one another in various intensities, Kyoutani appearing wary, Iwaizumi wearing a sheepish expression and Oikawa smiling blithely.

“Who’s that?” the full-time mechanic asks, directing the question at his senior but beady eyes trained on the stranger.

“Hi,” the Business major greets casually before Iwaizumi can say anything. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Kyoutani narrows his eyes at him, only because this Oikawa person gives off dubious vibes. He’s pretty sure he caught them in an intimate act, yet he was acting as if it didn’t bother him at all. Either he’s a brazen one, or he honestly doesn’t care. Whichever it is, Kyoutani instincts are telling him to be cautious. Iwaizumi in comparison, sports a telling blush on his cheeks.

Iwaizumi coughs. “He’s with me. We’ll be leaving soon—once I’m done with this car.”

“I’ll leave the parts here then,” the blonde grunts, dropping the box of spare parts on the workbench and disappearing back into the office without another word.

Once the door safely clicks and they’re left alone again, Oikawa has the gall to flash Iwaizumi a cheeky smile. “Oops, that was close.”

“Seriously Tooru…” Iwaizumi groans. To think he almost let himself get carried away.

His smile turns into a light laugh. “Anyway, I’m not here just to harass you.”

 _‘Just?’_ Iwaizumi thinks.

“I wanted to give you this,” he says gleefully, pulling out two rectangular sheets of paper from his jacket. He holds it out for Iwaizumi who, upon closer inspection, reads the words _‘All Japan Ice Hockey Championship’_.

“Ice hockey?” he says aloud, looking up at his partner curiously.

“It’s from the company,” Oikawa clarifies. “We’re sponsors for the game so we got free tickets. My father would just give them away but I thought we could go. You said you like team sports.”

He thought it’s cute that Oikawa was justifying why he’s inviting him to an ice hockey game out of the blue. He never said he was an avid fan of the sport. In any case, Oikawa had been mindful of his passing remark to want to explore it with him, and Iwaizumi can’t possibly pass up on that.

“Yeah okay, let’s go.”

“Great, it’s a date!” he declares happily. “I know next to nothing about ice hockey so you’ll have to explain everything to me. Do your research!”

“What, I’m not explaining everything,” Iwaizumi argues, somehow not surprised that Oikawa would pull something like this. “I don’t understand the sport fully myself.”

“It’s fine,” he breezes. “Now hurry up and get off work so we can get supper.”

“Okay okay, but I can’t leave the car like that so let me finish up quickly,” Iwaizumi says, and then promptly shoots him a warning glare, the memory of getting caught red-handed fresh in his mind. “Don’t distract me.”

“Don’t distract yourself!” Oikawa laughs.

* * *

Iwaizumi eventually works on Oikawa’s car during his next shift. He’s bent over the opened hood of the Lexus, inspecting the brake fluid. Not twenty minutes into the job, Iwaizumi concludes that Oikawa really has too much time and money to send the car to the shop when it’s practically in tip-top condition. Whoever maintains this car is doing a stellar job at it, and they even keep it sparkling clean. He can probably finish this in the short time there is before break time.

As he goes on to check the coolant, someone beside him casts a shadow on the engine compartment. Iwaizumi turns to see that Kyoutani has joined him, scanning unreadable eyes over the exposed parts before according his attention to the rest of the car which is rightfully more interesting. With its glossy paint job and tasteful leathered seats, it outshines the other older and less well-maintained vehicles in the shop floor.

They do work on higher-end cars here and there, but very rarely are they from customers whose car was only a fraction of their wealth. Most of them splurge on one nice car and scrimp and save on other expenses, but Kyoutani’s heard the others talking in the break room. He wasn’t there when Oikawa sent the Lexus to the shop, but from the way the others were teasing Iwaizumi, it was clearly someone he knew who did, and Kyoutani’s certain that it was the tall, brown-haired person he saw the other day.

“So that guy the other day,” he begins. “Is this really his car?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi replies without looking at his co-worker, having returned to his inspection.

Kyoutani scoffs. “What a show-off.”

It’s not unexpected that it had been construed as bragging, as they’ve experienced many times in their line of work, but Iwaizumi knows better.

“I don’t think he was showing off,” he states, remembering how Oikawa wanted an excuse to see him at work and generally be a little shit. “He just wants to annoy me.”

The blonde with a striped buzz cut doesn’t respond but thinks about what Iwaizumi said against the circumstances. It’s obvious that this Oikawa person comes from a super-rich family. And now he knows that they’re definitely involved with each other, if the state he had caught them in was anything to go by. He never bothers himself with anyone’s, let alone his co-workers’ affairs, considering himself a lone wolf, but he had struck some kind of friendship with Iwaizumi, who has earned his respect with his knowledgeable ways and patient advice, who has treated him like an equal instead of some punk who never furthered his education.

So maybe he chasing this train of thought is an act of looking out for a friend, and also an attempt to understand how someone like Iwaizumi got entangled with a person like Oikawa. But it doesn’t mean he’s going to be tactful about it, he barely knows how.

“Are you guys just fucking around?”

At that, Iwaizumi looks up, surprised that Kyoutani would broach the topic (not so much the way he phrased it) and now that he has, he supposes there’s no avoiding it.

“No—we’re in relationship,” he admits, wiping his stained hands with a nearby cloth. He can’t say he likes how the first thought Kyoutani had was that they’re fooling around.

“Doesn’t seem like your type,” Kyoutani remarks. If it was merely a fling, he could understand that. After all, everyone enjoys a no-strings-attached arrangement once in a while. But it turns out that this is more than that.

The older boy lets an amused smile grace his features. “What’s my type?”

“I don’t know,” Kyoutani shrugs, averting his gaze because he doesn’t go around thinking about what kind of people his co-workers would date. But he thought he knew Iwaizumi better. “Not the frivolous type.”

“Frivolous huh. I suppose he does come across as that,” Iwaizumi comments thoughtfully. It was the impression Oikawa had given Kyoutani when he brushed off their little tryst with a flippant smile, and it was the impression he gave Iwaizumi when they first got to know each other. Deeming the job finished, he unhooks the car’s prop rod and secures it at the front of the engine compartment. “Is it surprising that I’m with him?”

“Yeah,” Kyoutani answers bluntly and throws him a clean rag for Iwaizumi to remove the grease off the edge of the hood. “Rich kids are high maintenance. Thought you’d go for someone who’s more chill.”

“That so?”

“And it’s troublesome isn’t it? Dating someone like that,” Kyoutani says with a scowl. “With their elitism, manners, family and all that annoying crap.”

It’s safe to say that he’s never had one good run-in with a wealthy brat.

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal grunt and their conversation ends when the hood comes down with a loud click.

He thought Kyoutani was making a hasty generalization about all rich people, something Iwaizumi had also been guilty of. And perhaps most stereotypes hold some form of truth in them, but he knows Oikawa. He’s seen the pompous façade and bravado he puts up for the sake of keeping up a burdensome reputation. But he’s also seen that façade crumble to reveal a boy of insecurities, who puts himself against ridiculously high standards that he doesn’t know what it’s like to live without self-doubt. The same boy whose passion in his eyes reflect the fire that burns in his heart, who’s kind even though he sees it as a form of vulnerability, who doesn’t let his fear stop him.

It’s the same boy he finds himself having fallen in love with, despite the high maintenance rich brat he is, despite the world of differences between them.

So to be honest, it concerns him that Kyoutani had doubted the legitimacy of their relationship by assuming that they’re merely fucking around. Could they not be together unless they were just fooling with each other?

It reminds him of the exchange with Ushijima, who automatically presumed that he must have been of similar social standing to be in the private company of Oikawa. Would he have doubted that they were together if that were not the case? The initial disbelief on Yaku’s and Kuroo’s faces flashes in his mind. Granted, they meant no harm, but it bothered Iwaizumi that it had been their first reaction, because everyone’s heard of Oikawa Tooru and they personally knew Iwaizumi, so they’re more than familiar with how the two of them are poles apart.

All of these are simply irritating reminders of their differences, but like he said before, he didn’t care and he still doesn’t.

* * *

“Oikawa-san?” asks Yahaba Shigeru, a fellow classmate of the Business major, who responds with a hum. “I heard that you’re dating someone.”

That makes Oikawa look up from his laptop to turn his attention to his well-mannered peer instead of the presentation that they should be working on.

“Yeah, I am,” he confirms. They don’t engage in much PDA but he supposes people pick up on these sort of things easily and if it has something to do with Oikawa Tooru, the process is accelerated. So he can’t say Yahaba’s question is out of the blue. Anyway, there’s no point in denying when the both of them have no intention to. Oikawa has spent a lot of his time hiding, but this is one part of his life he doesn’t want to hide.

“With someone from the Engineering school?” he carries on, sitting a little straighter across Oikawa. He’s heard a few things from the grapevine, and since Oikawa seems to be obliging, he could validate the veracity of these hearsays.

“That’s right,” Oikawa answers while typing away at his laptop. Just because Yahaba is more interested in digging into his personal life doesn’t mean they both have to neglect their project. They’re not particularly close, but Yahaba’s one of those people who didn’t let Oikawa’s status and popularity affect his attitude towards him. If he could contribute meaningfully to their project, then that’s enough. Oikawa could respect that.

“How did you two meet?”

“We have an elective together,” he replies easily, deliberately omitting the part where he was drunk and about to commit a stupid mistake before Iwaizumi was forced to rescue him from a potential visit to the police station (it’s ironic how that’s exactly what he ended up doing).

“So who approached who?” Yahaba probes.

Oikawa raises a brow and stops typing altogether. He’s been barraging him with a slew of questions from the onset. “Aren’t you a curious one Yahaba-kun?”

The well-kempt student leans back in his seat to put some distance between them, and coughs awkwardly. “Well it’s not every day you hear that one of the most eligible bachelors in school is off the market. Naturally, people are interested.”

Yahaba included. He might not be like those who strive to get into Oikawa’s good books for whatever materialistic and opportunistic reasons, but he can’t resist the curiosity.

“No one approached anyone,” Oikawa says in the end, eyeing the unmoving cursor on his screen distractedly. “We just…happened.”

“But one of you must have asked the other out.”

“If you must know,” Oikawa accommodates. “I told him I liked him and he asked me out.”

Yahaba makes an interested hum in the back of his throat. That’s one truth revealed among the many that students are speculating.

“I see…” the boy with swishy bangs trails off. He wonders if he can ascertain one more thing from this conversation – something more personal that many are dying to know. Hesitantly, he asks, “Is it like…a casual thing?”

Sharp hazel eyes pierce Yahaba’s and for a split second, he worries he might have crossed a line, but Oikawa says, “You mean if it’s a hook-up?”

He’s met with a silent, sheepish nod.

“It’s not.”

When that elicits a look of surprise from his classmate, Oikawa turns the questioning back to him. “You find that hard to believe?”

“No—” he answers hastily. “It’s just surprising is all.”

Oikawa thought it might as well mean the same thing. The silence must be making Yahaba uncomfortable because he adds, “Especially when you got a reputation for being hard to get. And you guys are an unlikely couple. You must really like him.”

“I do.”

He’s not exceptionally fond of how this talk is going, but he’s at least glad that Yahaba chose to do this after the rest of their teammates have headed off to their next class or errand, leaving the two of them to work on their project. He’d rather not share such personal details with too many people. Although now he’s beginning to have qualms about revealing too much to Yahaba.

“I just hope you’re not setting yourself up for trouble,” he remarks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tentative eyes meet Oikawa’s searching ones. He’s certain Oikawa already knows this, but he tells him as tactfully as he can, “No offence…but people hang around you for a lot of reasons.”

That’s a fact that Oikawa is shamefully familiar with, having allowed it to happen more often than he’d like to admit. He’d let them call themselves his friends, shower him with hollow praises, all the while closing one eye to the shallow truth behind their behaviours. To many, it’s plain as day that they were nothing but leeches and vultures.

And it’s unthinkable that Iwaizumi would be the same, no matter how much it would benefit his circumstances.

“He’s not like that,” he says, voice losing its previous clarity, though not because his faith in Iwaizumi wavers, but because there are people who lump him with the likes of said leeches and vultures. And for the convenient reason that he stands to gain a whole lot from being in a relationship with him? The thought of it irks him.

“I’m not saying he is,” Yahaba continues, unaware of Oikawa’s subtle change in mood. “But you can never be too sure you know?”

“Sure,” Oikawa clips, closing his laptop and preparing to pack. He decides that this is a waste of time. “Anyway, I’m continuing the rest of this at home.”

* * *

The day of the All Japan Ice Hockey Championship comes without them mentioning anything about their exchanges with Kyoutani and Yahaba (or about what either of them might have heard in school for that matter). It doesn’t change anything anyway; they trusted each other enough not to let the thoughtless remarks of people who don’t know better sway them. Besides, what good would it do to bring it up? Iwaizumi would bet that Oikawa will get all riled up about it if he knew what the rumour mill was spinning.

Speaking of which, it seems that he isn’t privy to the kind of nasty things jealous and juvenile students were spewing behind Iwaizumi’s back, if he’s able to wear such a carefree smile as they take the best seats in the stadium. It’s for the better he thinks, because Iwaizumi can handle the baseless rumours – even if they were all about dragging his name through the mud, even if he was portrayed as the wolf taking advantage of an innocent, altruistic lamb.

Oikawa’s initial excitement quickly dissipates when he can’t follow the game and Iwaizumi isn’t fast enough to explain what’s going on before it advances. They weren’t exactly rooting for either the Nippon Paper Cranes or Oji Eagles, so the match wasn’t as immersive. Also, Iwaizumi keeps getting distracted every time the player with the puck skates past the dasher board where Aoba Johsai’s striking logo is plastered on.

At half-time, Oikawa suggests bringing Iwaizumi to his spare apartment after the game ends, and Iwaizumi was more surprised at the fact that he has a spare apartment than anything else. The taller boy seems eager about the prospect of more privacy with Iwa-chan, since his flatmates were probably in the apartment and there was no chance he’d risk bringing him home where his mother would be an uncomfortable presence. He’s not plotting anything, but whatever happens, happens.

The championship ends with Nippon Paper Cranes’ victory, and they head out while the players were piling on top of each other in the rink. The game was fun to watch, but Iwaizumi wouldn’t stay for the award ceremony. Several people were already streaming out of the arena and Oikawa slips an arm around Iwaizumi’s as they exit through the lobby, chattering away carelessly.

He’s in the middle of deciding what they should get for takeout before going back – _dumplings?_ – until a drawn-out sound of fascination greets them from the side. Iwaizumi hadn’t known it was directed at them if not for the way Oikawa stops in his tracks and straightens his back. He follows his partner’s gaze to notice that a lanky guy with unusually red hair is regarding them with obvious interest.

“If it isn’t the Hosei couple,” he points out with a lazy smirk. Iwaizumi doesn’t even know who the hell this random guy is, but he’s already beginning to feel prickled. Beside him, Oikawa’s arm has fallen away from his, and he meets the red-haired boy’s beady eyes with guarded ones. The change in their expressions is so blatant that it causes him to put up his hands in defence, “Don’t be so wary! I mean no harm.”

Only Oikawa can tell if it’s true, since he appears to be acquainted with the boy. And at this point, only Oikawa knows that they’ve had the pleasure of meeting Tendou Satori, a fellow Hosei student who Oikawa supposes could be called one of Ushijima’s few friends from another school. He’s one of the handful of students who’s basically secured employment at Shiratorizawa once he graduates and suffice to say, he’s well-assimilated into the cutthroat world of business and the latest gossip that comes with it.

“What do you want Tendou?” Oikawa demands. It’s just his luck for running into Tendou, who’s a bit of an oddball and has the uncanny ability to psycho-analyse people. He tries not to let it show that he’s worried about how he might find a target in Iwaizumi, who must be lost in this weirdly tense exchange.

“I’m just surprised to see you here,” Tendou comments airily. “You know me, I’m here for research. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make an appearance at the games Aoba Johsai’s a sponsor for. At least not with a companion.”

Attention zeroes in on Iwaizumi and frankly, he’s too disgruntled with the recent spate of tittle-tattles to be worked up about this. What was this Tendou guy supposed to be? Some final boss?

“Iwaizumi Hajime right? You’ve been quite the talk of the town,” he quips.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi indulges. He’s never been so popular before and he’s starting to miss his quiet, peaceful existence.

“Oh yeah,” Tendou smiles wily, baiting him. It’s not like there’s any real merit in provoking him, but it’s entertaining.

But as long as Oikawa’s there, he won’t simply stand by and watch. “Tendou, we’d—”

“Being with Oikawa Tooru sends tongues wagging you know?” he cuts off, not allowing Oikawa to spoil his fun. “People wonder how you two got together. How a mismatched couple came to be.”

To illustrate his point, the red-head holds up his index fingers, crosses them in an ‘x’, and hooks them at the knuckles. What a theatrical character, Iwaizumi thinks. If his exams and expenses don’t wear him down, people like him will. Iwaizumi sighs internally.

“It’s because I’m just trying to get in his pants and obviously I’m in it for the money,” he admits dryly. What other way is there to make them shut up but to tell them what they want to hear?

“Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa’s voice is so small that it takes Iwaizumi almost everything not to hold him right then and there.

“Did you want me to say something like that?” he asks Tendou, whose stunned silence tells Iwaizumi that he was beaten at his own game. “It seems like it’s what everyone’s expecting me to say recently.”

Tendou has recovered to watch Iwaizumi keenly, and he knows Oikawa is hanging on his every word. He hates having to justify himself like this, because he doesn’t owe anyone a damn explanation, but since they’ve found themselves in this situation, he might as well finish the job cleanly so that they’ll finally get off his back.

“I get that he’s filthy rich and I’m not. I know he’s the successor to one of Tokyo’s most profitable sports retail company and all I’ve got to my name is my Honda bike probably. And I’m perfectly aware of the difference in our background,” Iwaizumi states, unapologetic.

He goes on, taking a breath with a shake of his head, “But I don’t know what to tell you except that I’m not interested in his money. If I were, I’d pick…” he trails off, trying to come up with a name. “I don’t know Kita Shinsuke or something. Much easier to deal with, less high-maintenance. But I chose this guy because I fucking like him. Why can’t it be as simple as that without you guys having to make shit complicated?”

It’s so quiet among the three of them that the background noises in the lobby sounds deafening. Tendou stares at him in wide-eyed astonishment, clearly not expecting him to deliver a soliloquy, and neither did Oikawa. There’s awe swimming in his bright hazel eyes and a light blush dusting his cheeks because never had he imagined that Iwa-chan would make such a heartfelt confession in front of a stranger, and Iwaizumi would see this if he isn’t too busy frowning at Tendou.

Their supposed aggravator bursts out laughing out of the blue, startling the both of them. Whatever motivated him to get a rise out of Iwaizumi evaporates into genuine amusement. He approached them hoping he’d be entertained, and entertained was he – just not in the way he had counted on. Iwaizumi Hajime is truly a candid person – he takes life by the horns doesn’t he – and Tendou can find no fault in that.

“Oikawa-san,” the boy with spiked-up hair addresses him by his name for the first time, wiping away a stray tear from a good bout of laughter. “You really found yourself a gem didn’t you?”

* * *

In the end, they get McDonald’s for takeout before Iwaizumi drives them to Oikawa’s spare apartment. It’s one of those units in a high-rise condominium, complete with its own security control and recreational facilities. Iwaizumi parks his bike for the night at a nearby public parking lot, and Oikawa greets the guard with a little wave before leading the way to the apartment.

As Iwaizumi expected, it’s stylishly decorated with high-end furniture and abstract-looking paintings. The apartment boasts a tasteful minimalistic design and houses enough furniture and fixtures to make it comfortable for living, though Oikawa says no one really uses this often. It so orderly that it looks like a showroom instead of an actual home.

When they’re laying out their McDonald’s on the coffee table so that they can watch some TV programme but probably let it play in the background, Oikawa tells him that the place is an investment that his parents intend to sell off once the value appreciates in the market. In the meantime, he’s allowed to use it as he likes, his parents surmising that he’s independent enough to use it responsibly.

So far, he’s only ever borrowed the space to throw a party, which his mother is well aware of but have no complaints about, because it’s better than wrecking her precious abode with the chaos and aftermath that wild, young and free university students can create. It’s not a very proud moment in Oikawa’s life.

They watch an episode of Terrace House in the living room while tending to their Grand Bacon Cheese for Iwaizumi and Fillet-o-Fish for Oikawa. But predictably, their earlier run-in with Tendou stays fresh in their minds and eventually culminates into an urge to talk about the things left unsaid, so Oikawa abandons the TV show to pursue it.

“You know, you kinda surprised me back there,” he starts, side-eyeing Iwaizumi to check his reaction.

The Engineering student looks up at him from his burger, swallowing before he replies, “What? Did you think I’d be with you if I didn’t like you? No amount of money will be enough to make me tolerate your annoying ass.”

It’s supposed to embarrass Oikawa into dropping the subject. After all, they don’t have to have this conversation right? But Iwaizumi was only short of reiterating that he’s here because love triumphs (something too cheesy for him to verbalize; he’s already reached his quota when he made that declaration in front of the Tendou guy) and it’s so easy to read between the lines that Oikawa grins instead of throwing his usual retort.

“Aww Iwa-chan, don’t be such a tsundere,” Oikawa teases. “I know how you truly feel. You basically announced it to the whole world!”

“I’ll announce to the whole world that you own ten different Area 51 t-shirts if you don’t finish your food.”

“I do not!!”

He has seven of them. And it was a phase. Iwaizumi hides a smirk behind his almost-finished burger.

Clearing his throat, Oikawa continues, “Anyway, I thought you were pretty cool…when you shut him up like that. I was worried he’d get to you. Tendou can be…let’s just say he knows how to push people’s buttons.”

“That was hardly anything,” Iwaizumi plays it off. Compared to the other things he’s heard, it’s so paltry. “From the way he backed off, I don’t think he was serious anyway.”

Oikawa thought being confronted directly was no small matter but then again, Iwaizumi’s an equally candid person. Maybe it’s natural that he would perceive it as a triviality, but Oikawa suddenly remembers something Iwaizumi said that might imply otherwise.

“Iwa-chan, you said that people have been expecting you to say that you’re in it for the money. What exactly are they saying to you?”

The way his voice dips – low and serious – forms a bead of sweat on Iwaizumi’s temple.

“It’s nothing.”

There’s a reason why he didn’t want to bring it up in the first place. It’s precisely because he knows Oikawa will take it badly, and he’s soon to be proven right.

“It’s not nothing!” he exclaims, forgoing the last bit of his burger to drag the truth out of his boyfriend. Now that he knows there’s something Iwaizumi is evading, all the more it compels him to find out. “I want to know.”

“Tooru, just leave it,” Iwaizumi sighs, brushing the crumbs off his fingers and grabbing his Coke. “You know people say stupid shit.”

“I want to know how stupid they can be,” he maintains. His conversation with Yahaba gave him an inkling, but now he won’t get a good night’s sleep if he doesn’t uncover the extent of their stupidity.

Iwaizumi locks eyes with him, weighing his options. Frankly, he isn’t left with much of a choice when Oikawa’s unyielding eyes are boring holes into him. He supposes he can deal with the fallout if Oikawa does get worked up.

So with a sigh of resignation, he tells him, “They’re saying that you’re being short-changed, that you can do better.”

Sure, it’s a highly condensed version of the actual thing, but it gets the point across. And true enough, Iwaizumi witnesses the full spectrum of Oikawa’s expression as it transitions from apprehensive anticipation to shocked understanding to simmering outrage.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Iwaizumi says firmly, flicking Oikawa in the forehead. It earns him a petulant _‘ow!’_ and he says with finality, “I didn’t.”

“They don’t understand…” the brown-eyed boy murmurs quietly, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead. The episode of Terrace House plays in the background, forgotten.

Iwa-chan is right, he shouldn’t let it get to him, but while he can’t find the strength to fly into a rage, it still stirs up a heaviness in this chest.

The people who say these things…they can’t even begin to understand how wrong they are. If they had seen for themselves how genuine Iwa-chan is, how it’s simply not in his make-up to perceive others for the value they bring to him, but for who they really are, then they’d surely eat their own words. They said he was being short-changed? What a laughable thought. Oikawa personally believes he had outdone himself when he made his feelings known and Iwaizumi had asked him out in nervous energy.

“They have _no idea_ —how _real_ you are,” Oikawa forces out while trying to keep the storm of emotions in control. He doesn’t realize how tightly his fists are clenched as he continues, “That you’ve never once tried to be in my good books, and that you go as far as to call me out on the stupid shit I do.”

He’s rambling at this point, but he finds that he can finally articulate some of the reasons he’s in love with Iwaizumi Hajime that he couldn’t put into words before.

“When everyone’s careful with the way they talk to me, you’re just so—” he unclenches his fists and waves them around as if trying to figure out an appropriate expression, “—gruff and gentle at the same time it’s very confusing but also very nice. And if they’d just _see_ that—”

Oikawa exhales sharply, his piercing gaze like an arrow through Iwaizumi’s heart, “Then how can they think that you’re like the rest of them?”

It’s so unfair, that Iwaizumi has to endure their baseless whisperings without a way to defend himself while Oikawa, by nature of his background, is shielded from the very same thing.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathes out, reaching for his hands to pull them down. He doesn’t really know what to say, since there is an Oikawa-shaped weight on his chest. But he settles with, “I honestly don’t give a shit about what they say or think. We don’t owe them anything.”

Having calmed down a bit, Oikawa sighs wearily. “I know…but I hate that you had to go through that.”

“It’s not like they said it to my face,” Iwaizumi points out, tracing the pad of his thumb across his hand comfortingly. “It’s okay.”

The taller boy sidles up to Iwaizumi on the hardwood floor, seeking out forest green eyes tentatively. “Do you regret it?”

“Not a chance,” Iwaizumi answers without missing a beat. Even without the explanation, he knows what he means. And he’s too preoccupied with falling so hard and fast for the dork in front of him that the thought never crossed his mind. Also, just because he’s the one who got the short end of the stick doesn’t mean that the concept of regret is confined only to Iwaizumi. “You know, being with me isn’t going to be a walk in the park too. We won’t always be able to eat lavishly, or visit expensive places. I won’t be able to afford pricey gifts all the time, and you can bet that I’m not going to be your personal driver.”

“I don’t care about that,” Oikawa declares, surging into Iwaizumi’s space. “As long as it’s with Iwa-chan.”

“There you go,” he says with a small smile, and exploits their proximity to pinch Oikawa’s nose lightly. “We’re always going to have to make compromises. But at the end of the day, I’ll keep choosing you.”

“What if one day you won’t?” he asks before he can help himself. At times, the depth of his insecurities reaches further than he imagined they could.

“Then that’s the day I’ll let you call me an idiot without arguing,” Iwaizumi replies easily, to which Oikawa lets out a laugh. Iwa-chan would never let that happen, especially if it’s Oikawa who was the idiot.

He shuffles even closer to Iwaizumi, the scarce space between their shoulders forming the end of a V, as the shorter-haired boy turns his attention to his fries. Oikawa, spirits lifted now that Iwaizumi’s dependability has rubbed off on him, is feeling cheeky.

“Tell me what you like about me,” he needles.

“Really?” he says flatly, cheeks round with a mouthful of fries.

“Humour me Iwa-chan.”

He notices the twinkling in his eyes, the curve of his lips, and decides that he’ll play along today. He supposes he can coddle him once in a while.

“…I like your stupid face.”

Immediately, Oikawa’s smile stretches into a grin that shows off his pearly whites. “Aww you think I’m attractive?”

“Annoyingly so,” Iwaizumi retorts and stuffs a fry into Oikawa’s mouth. “Stop fishing for compliments. You already know that!”

“Besides my face, what else?” he presses on, chewing.

An eyelid twitches and Iwaizumi distracts himself with the fries to avoid being in the direct line of Oikawa’s anticipation. He’s not a very expressive person. His words are spoken without flair and his actions speak for themselves. Yet, when Oikawa seeks him out this way, the answers are easily formed in his mind. After all, it is not hard to put what he already understands in his heart into a few simple words – just embarrassing that’s all.

“I like that you’re willing to try new things,” he starts. He might have fussed a bit or passed too quick a judgement but ultimately, he had tried. “I like your tenacity.”

Iwaizumi sees Oikawa as a force to be reckoned with. While he isn’t overtly intimidating or domineering, his resolve comes in the form of quiet persistence backed by an unwavering spirit. Even if he doesn’t reach his goal, he’ll kill himself trying before anything else.

“I like that you’re actually a nice person underneath all that big talk.”

He ventures a glance at Oikawa when he says that because he knows how Oikawa feels about it, and he wants to tell him not with any words at all, that it’s not a bad thing.

The confession catches Oikawa off guard, not only because of its sincerity, but because it reminds him how much Iwa-chan reads him like an open book when others who’ve tried couldn’t tell the first page from the last.

“Thanks Iwa-chan…” he mumbles, becoming self-conscious. “You’re really nice.”

“I’m not being nice,” Iwaizumi scolds lightly. “I’m being honest. Stop being blind.”

He’d beg to differ. Oikawa thinks he’s acutely self-aware and that Iwaizumi might be too smitten with him to notice that sometimes his self-loathing issues come out to play. He might understand a lot of things about him, but did he also know that he would resort to unsavoury means if he was pushed far enough? That he believes dogged determination will get you far but deception and clever influence will get you further? That sometimes he wants so much and so badly he scares even himself? He fears the day when Iwaizumi would see him for all that he is, and he would see the disappointment written across his face.

Today, he keeps these hidden in his closet and shakes away the thoughts before they become all-consuming to pose an entirely different question to Iwaizumi.

“By the way,” he says, peering at him quizzically. “Why did you mention that you’d pick Kita Shinsuke? Do you like the quiet type?”

Ah, he had thought of the level-headed silver-haired male for the simple reason that he had met him once and thought he was a pretty cool dude. And because he remembered he came from a lucrative rice business that he was in line to take over.

But Iwaizumi decides to torment him a little.

He looks at him dead in the eye and says, “I looove the quiet type.”

Oikawa blinks.

“I call your bluff.”

“No prizes for that.”

* * *

_Omake_

_The bathtub is roomy enough for the two of them, with Oikawa’s back leaning on Iwaizumi’s chest, the soapy water around them rippling slightly when the former lifts one arm to rest it against the edge of the tub. Sharing a hot bath had been Iwaizumi’s idea and Oikawa’s mind went into the gutter, but it seemed that he purely wanted to enjoy a bath together. Which is perfect, because the feel of Iwaizumi’s bare, toned chest against his skin is amazing. And the warmth eases the tension in their muscles and lulls Iwaizumi into a peaceful reverie. Oikawa on the other hand, is simmering with restless energy._

_There’s something he’s always wondered and he had been looking for an opportune time to ask Iwaizumi but never quite found it. Now appears to be such a time, with the darker-haired boy relaxed and pliant behind him._

_“Hey Iwa-chan,” he eventually says. “Can I ask you something?”_

_“Depends,” comes his lazy answer._

_Soldiering on, Oikawa slices through the water with his hands and asks, “How many…how many people have you been with?”_

_The sound of water splashing meets his ears and he imagines Iwaizumi must have lifted his head from where it rested against the rim._

_“What’s with that?”_

_“I’m curious!” Oikawa says hastily, pushing himself off to face Iwaizumi, water and soap spilling onto the shower floor. Meeting his questioning eyes makes him duck his head sheepishly, especially when he looks rather intimidating with the way his arms are draped over the edge of the tub, droplets of water sliding down his chest, “You seemed to really know what to do during my first time so I was just wondering.”_

_A beat of silence ensues and Oikawa jerks forward and adds, though he starts to ramble instead, “I’m not going to be jealous or anything! Honestly, I’m not that petty. I just want to know. Although, if you tell me you’ve slept with like a dozen people I guess I would be a little—”_

_“Three,” Iwaizumi’s voice interrupts, stilling Oikawa into silence. “I’ve only been with three people.”_

_“Oh.”_

_He sounds coy and all, but Iwaizumi bets he’s secretly satisfied. What an annoying guy. There’s probably a ton of questions in his mind about these three experiences, and he can summarise them before they shrivel up like a prune in here so he continues._

_“My first time was at the Okinawa trip during my second year of high school,” he tells him, an indelible memory of his high school days. “We were from different classes but we met during the trip and…I guess we were young and figuring things out.”_

_Oikawa listens in rapt attention, hugging one knee to his chest, his kneecap peeking out of the water. To think Iwa-chan experimented so early on and lost his virginity at seventeen. Oh, the mere thought of it. Iwaizumi shifts under Oikawa’s earnest gaze, running a hand through his damp hair._

_“We didn’t pursue anything after that, but we stayed as friends,” he carries on. “Then I got into a relationship in my last year of high school. We dated for almost a year, but it ended before we graduated.”_

_He fondly remembers that as his longest relationship – with a bright-eyed boy who he parted ways with because he stayed in Miyagi while he moved to Tokyo. They were good together, but they both knew they wouldn’t last through a long-distance relationship._

_Surprisingly, Oikawa doesn’t clamour for details, so Iwaizumi finishes, “The third one was…a one-night stand with someone I met at a party last semester.”_

_He tells Oikawa there’s nothing more than that with a “Happy now?”_

_With his curiosity sated, Oikawa pouts, “Don’t make it sound like I was hoping to hear that.”_

_“Aren’t you?” Iwaizumi returns easily._

_“I just find it unfair,” he murmurs, changing his position to kneel between Iwaizumi’s legs. “That all these people came before me.”_

_Granted, it’s only three people, but Iwa-chan’s had enough experience to know how to make Oikawa feel so loved and pleasured._

_“So possessive,” he teases, sitting up to pull him in by the waist. Oikawa shuffles towards him on his knees, water tipping everywhere from the movement, and balances himself by resting his palms on Iwaizumi’s shoulders._

_“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispers above him, forcing Iwaizumi to crane his neck to lock eyes with him. A droplet of water falls from the damp ends of his chestnut hair and slides down Iwaizumi’s temple, hanging on the curve of his jaw. God, Oikawa’s body is beautifully sculpted – so sturdy and defined – and he feels hot and slippery beneath his touch that Iwaizumi feels his dick twitch._

_Oikawa dips his head, relishing in the reaction he incites from Iwaizumi, and purrs against his lips in a sultry voice, “I would have taken all of your first times.”_

_When they’re pressed against each other, skin to skin and mouth to mouth, Iwaizumi thinks that there’s a first time for fucking someone while they’re bent over the edge of the tub._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone I follow on twitter was raving about IwaKita, and I was like…very nice.
> 
> I know some of the characters’ ages don’t follow that in canon verse but it’s because I wanted specific characters to be Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s peers and they needed to all be uni first-years for which you’ll find out why later in the story. But basically, third-years and second-years (e.g. Akaashi, Yahaba) in the pre-time skip manga are uni first-years here and first-years in pre-time skip manga (e.g. Kageyama) are high schoolers.
> 
> Hope you are enjoying the story so far! We're halfway through and the drama kicks in hurhur.


	8. cold vs. warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act II: disapproval

Iwaizumi would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little apprehensive about inviting Oikawa to meet his parents back in Miyagi. Soon after going out with Oikawa, he admitted to his mother that he’s gotten into a relationship, not deliberately but because the topic came up during one of their calls. Predictably, she had been excited about it and he could even sense her eagerness through the static, wondering when he would introduce them.

The chance presented itself in due course. With his mother’s birthday coming up, she suggested bringing the boy over and that she would cook a feast. Iwaizumi, not wanting to be a wet blanket on his mother’s cheerful mood, said that he would try.

And try he did, when they stayed around on campus to study together one afternoon. It’s just a simple celebration with his parents and it’s not like he was seeking approval or asking for their blessings to be married, so it doesn’t have to be a big deal. And they’re both easy-going people. But even so, he wasn’t entirely sure how Oikawa would feel about it. He might think they’re moving too fast, or that it’s too troublesome, or too stressful to have to impress his parents, but as it turns out, he had given his reply in the form of an—

 _“Okay.”_ —that was uttered so nonchalantly and with an easy smile on his lips that Iwaizumi felt almost silly for fretting over it.

Now, after a two-hour Shinkansen ride, Iwaizumi wonders if the shock that registers on his mother’s face is really necessary. Oikawa already knows he’s attractive, but that kind of reaction will only serve to inflate his ego.

“Oh my,” she breathes out, busy hands now still over the food she was preparing.

“ _’Kaa-san_ ,” Iwaizumi half-greets, half-groans.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Oikawa says politely, eyes crinkling with the radiant smile he wears, possibly hiding the mirth from watching her expression. “It’s nice to meet you Iwaizumi-san. I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

“Come in, come in!” she beams, rinsing her hands and drying them quickly to usher him out of the entranceway and into the humble abode of the Iwaizumi household. She’s a head shorter than him and has to look up to take a good look at his face. “It’s so nice to finally meet you Tooru-kun. Was the train ride okay?”

Iwaizumi leaves for a bit as his mother makes small talk with Oikawa to put away the cake in the fridge. He returns to Oikawa’s side in time to hear his mother say, “Goodness, you’re taller than Hajime.”

“He doesn’t need a reminder,” Iwaizumi cuts in.

“You mean _you_ don’t need a reminder,” Oikawa retorts playfully. Being taller than Iwa-chan is his pride and joy. Remembering he’s brought a gift, he turns back to Iwaizumi’s mother and holds out a paper bag, “Iwaizumi-san, this is for you. I know your birthday’s not until Wednesday, but happy birthday.”

“Oh dear, you shouldn’t have!” she exclaims, hand on her heart.

“It’s only something small,” he tells her modestly and Iwaizumi knows it’s anything but. He had told him that there’s no need to get a present (his family is not big on gift-giving) but Oikawa was adamant about it. So he warned him not to buy anything expensive, but as extra as he is, Oikawa went ahead to do just that.

He’ll bet that when his mother opens the gift to find that Oikawa had gifted her an authentic Japanese cherry blossom tea set, she will surely come gushing to him, but troubled that Oikawa had gotten something so expensive. He never said a thing about Oikawa being the son of the CEO of a successful sports retail MNC, thinking it’s something he’ll tell her when it’s time.

Before he can change the topic by asking where his father is, Iwaizumi senior emerges from the stairs with a toolbox in hand.

“Dear, I’ve fixed the faulty lightbulb in the store room,” his voice drifts down. “Are Hajime and his friend here yet?”

The answer stares back at him with verdant and russet eyes.

“Yo, _oyaji_ ,” Iwaizumi smiles.

“Hajime! Welcome home!” he practically bellows, and regards the other boy with equal enthusiasm. “And you must be Oikawa. Quite the looker aren’t you!”

“ _Oyaji_ …”

“H-Hello,” Oikawa bows slightly, caught off guard by the lively welcome. “Nice to meet you, Iwaizumi-san. I’m Tooru.”

“Don’t need to be so polite,” he chortles. “You can call us casually.”

“You two must be tired from travelling all the way here,” Iwaizumi’s mother pipes up. “Hajime, why don’t you show Tooru-kun to your room and settle down? Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Yeah okay,” he replies, leading Oikawa upstairs.

Oikawa thought that their residence is pretty neat. It’s a typical single-family home with two storeys, much smaller than his three-storey-with-a-basement terrace but definitely cosier. He notices the traces of a happy childhood – like the markings of Iwaizumi’s growing height against the door frame, and the bunch of wooden prayer plaques that look like they’ve been decorated by a middle-schooler. There’s a homely atmosphere in this house – it’s found in the hand-sewn table runner, although a little out of place with its abstract design, that’s draped proudly over the top of a cabinet, and in the traces of everyone’s personal touch in one thing or another.

It feels like people actually lived here, not merely exist.

They drop their bags in Iwaizumi’s room and Oikawa spends the rest of their free time poking around, snickering at the many Godzilla posters still pasted on the walls and sticking his nose at what photographs Iwaizumi has around his room.

When it’s time to head downstairs for dinner, Oikawa is greeted by first and foremost, the heavenly aroma of a home-cooked meal and next, an array of mouth-watering dishes on the dinner table.

Over a hearty meal, Oikawa learns about the Iwaizumi family. He finds out that Iwa-chan’s father, Iwaizumi Kenshin, is an electrician in a local company. He has a team under him who takes on most of the jobs, but he’s a rather hands-on kind of guy, so he frequently tags along to guide his team and help strike a good rapport with the customers.

He’s not as tall as his son, but they have similar hair except his is trimmed much shorter. Nor is he as well-built as Iwa-chan, age and manual labour a cause of that, but he was probably a sinewy man in his younger days. He has an earnest face, the type belonging to someone who would help an old lady chase after her dropped apples down the hill. His speech is casual, and he interacts with Oikawa like they’re friends. It’s awkward at first, because this was his boyfriend’s father, and his own father doesn’t even talk to him like that. Oikawa Kazeyo may speak familiarly, but he still feels twice as distant.

Iwa-chan’s mother, Iwaizumi Ayu, is just as hospitable. Her dark hair, tied into a low ponytail, frames an oval-shaped face and doesn’t hide the wrinkles that appear at the corners of her eyes when she smiles. She’s slender, moves with a familiar sureness in her actions, and heaps food onto Oikawa’s bowl. He finds it easy to look at her eyes, and wishes he could see the same tenderness in his mother’s.

They’re generous with tales of Iwa-chan’s childhood and give him regaling accounts of how he used to be afraid of a stain in the wall that resembles a face, how he was so mortified when he wet his bed the first time that he deliberately spilled juice all over it, and how he was a jack of all trades in terms of sports which came to a point where virtually every club sought him out.

Iwaizumi wishes they weren’t so eager to embarrass him when he’s seldom back in Miyagi and with a partner no less, but Oikawa looks like he’s having fun and his parents seem to take a liking to him, so he bears with it.

His mother positively glows when Oikawa nods readily at the offer of a second helping.

“How is it that you can stay like this with such an appetite?” Iwaizumi points out, eyeing the mountain of rice in his bowl.

“Hajime, be nice,” his mother scolds.

“Yeah _Hajime_ , don’t be rude,” Oikawa says impishly, choosing to call him by his given name which he rarely uses. It earns him a glower that he ignores with a cheeky grin hidden behind his bowl. Instead, he smiles appreciatively at Iwaizumi’s mother, “Thank you _oba-san_ , the food is really good.”

It’s natural, since she works in a preschool and takes care of all the children’s meals, making sure that they don’t only taste good, but look appetizing and are nutritious as well. Oikawa wonders in the back of his mind if this was how Iwa-chan learned to cook.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she waves off. “Eat as much as you like. I hope you boys are eating well in Tokyo.”

“I take turns with Hanamaki and Matsukawa to make dinner,” Iwaizumi tells her around a mouthful of tempura. That’s one good thing about having housemates. Everything is split three ways.

“And you Tooru-kun?” she asks. “Do you also rent a place with friends?”

“My parents are in Tokyo, so we stay together,” he replies and adds without disclosing too much, “But they’re quite busy, so—my mother doesn’t really cook.”

‘Doesn’t really cook’ isn’t quite the case, since she doesn’t cook at all. Why does she need to, when they pay Mie-san enough to handle all their meals? He feels bad for being deliberately ambiguous, but he doesn’t want to spoil a nice birthday dinner with the bleak reality of his familial matters.

“That’s sounds like a lot of takeout food,” Iwaizumi’s mother comments sympathetically. “Have you tried cooking by yourself?”

“Something like cooking is impossible for me,” Oikawa chuckles. Most of the time, the reason he steps foot into the kitchen is to ask Mie-san what’s for dinner. He helps prepare sometimes, but he hardly stays long enough to learn any passable cooking skills.

“Hajime wasn’t that great when he started out,” Iwaizumi’s father supplies helpfully. “It’s only a matter of practice.”

“I don’t think I have many chances to do that,” he says forlornly at his bowl. He never stays long enough in the kitchen because his mother would occupy his time with matters she considers more deserving of his time – like practicing the piano, or perusing Aoba Johsai’s latest collaterals, or sending him away to keep their stakeholder relationships warm.

Iwaizumi Ayu doesn’t know why that would put such an expression on his face, but her intuition tells her that behind whatever it is, is his own set of difficulties.

“Well, it’s okay to do things at your own pace, isn’t it?” she says kindly, placing a piece of teriyaki salmon on top of his rice. Surprised but remembering his manners, Oikawa bows his head slightly in a grateful gesture and looks up to see the softness in her eyes. “And if you can’t, then I guess you just have to make another trip here no? You can tell me what food you like. I’ll whip them up for you.”

“That’s right,” the older Iwaizumi adds genially. “I don’t think there’s any dish my wife can’t cook.”

“Then…” Oikawa says meekly to everyone’s slight amazement. “Ginger pork with garlic sauce?”

It’s a dish he doesn’t get the chance to eat anymore – at least not the home-cooked version – ever since the person who made it for him left all those years ago.

The small request earns him several wide-eyed stares and even Iwa-chan stops shoving food into his mouth to turn to him. Before Oikawa can think that maybe he was being presumptuous, a light blush already high on his cheeks, Iwaizumi’s mother repeats with a tilt of her head, “Ginger pork with garlic sauce it is.”

It sounds so much like what a mother would say, and Oikawa realizes just how few times he’s felt this way towards his own. He wants to feel sorry for himself, but he can’t manage to above the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s just a simple dinner, there’s nothing grand about it – no gourmet dishes served from a master chef’s kitchen, no prominent figures to grace their presence, no expensive gifts laid out before them – but Oikawa’s heart has never been fuller from such simple bliss.

He tries to force down the emotions welling inside him, ashamed that something like this would make him feel like crying. So he ducks his head and pops another chopsticks-full of stir-fry vegetables into his mouth, the heat in his mouth no match for the warmth and fuzziness in his chest. If Iwa-chan was watching him in mild concern, Oikawa was too busy hiding his face to notice.

After the plates have been cleared and the table wiped down, Iwaizumi takes the strawberry cream cake from the fridge. They do away with the birthday fanfare because _‘there’s no need for something so embarrassing’_ but they do take a picture, a smiling Iwaizumi Ayu seated in front of her cake with three of the most beautiful men she’s ever met (not all physically, but beautiful nonetheless).

She brings the cake to the kitchen to serve it on four small plates and Iwaizumi follows her to help, telling Oikawa to make himself comfortable in the living room. Iwaizumi’s father joins them to prepare some tea, asking his son something about the cake and ruffling his hair endearingly at the answer that Oikawa can’t hear.

He watches them from the living room, a longing gaze settling in his hazel eyes. The three of them bustling about in the kitchen, passing idle remarks at one another, is a picture of domesticity that Oikawa wishes he had the fortune of seeing in his own life. They look happy despite not having much, and Oikawa thinks they already have more than he could ever hope for. It’s not anything he can help when the longing in his eyes become tainted with envy.

They enjoy their slices of strawberry cream cake in front of some travel programme about Kumamoto until Iwaizumi says they’re going up and his mother suggests to take Oikawa out for a walk around the neighbourhood instead – it’s chilly but an evening stroll sounds like a good idea after a satisfying dinner. Oikawa looks at him in anticipation so they fetch their jackets to step out into the cold air.

There’s a playground a short five minutes away, which is where they stop when Oikawa asks if this is where Iwaizumi spent a lot of his time playing in and he answered _‘sometimes’_. As a child, he ventured much further than the sheltered confines of a neighbourhood playground.

Their walk here had been relatively quiet, the both of them choosing to enjoy each other’s presence and the warmth of their linked hands instead. It is only until Oikawa scampers to the swing-set and kicks up a slow pace that he says to a more subdued Iwaizumi.

“Your parents are cute.”

“Don’t call them cute…” he protests lightly, scrunching his nose. He joins Oikawa on the other swing but keeps it still.

“They seem so happy to have you back,” he comments with a small quirk of his lips. “You should visit more often.”

“I have to work, even more so during the semester break. But I do visit them during the holidays,” Iwaizumi reasons.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to come back more frequently. After all, he misses the tranquillity that Tokyo cannot offer, but semester breaks are the best times to take on more shifts and earn extra cash. With paying for rent and tuition fees out of his own pocket and the humble allowance his parents send over, he needs all he can get.

On his left, Oikawa harbours a whole different perspective. That may be important, but he thinks that work is no reason to neglect your family over. Take it from someone who’s living out the consequences of that.

Softly, he murmurs, “Iwa-chan doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

Iwaizumi has noticed that Oikawa seems a bit off since a while ago but he had kept silent in front of his parents. Perhaps meeting his parents had struck a chord with him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, twisting his seat to half-face Oikawa.

“Yes,” he says, using his _‘everything’s fine’_ voice purely out of habit. “Why do you ask?”

Not buying it, Iwaizumi points out bluntly but not harshly, “You looked like you were about to cry during dinner.”

Taken aback by the call-out but expecting nothing less from Iwa-chan, Oikawa laughs and slows the swing to a stop. “How embarrassing. It’s nothing. Just—my parents don’t even talk to me like yours do so I wasn’t used to it.”

Iwaizumi realizes then that Oikawa must have felt how different their families are, and this time, it’s not in his favour. It was never his intention to gloat about what a blissful family he has, and he knows Oikawa knows this too, but he can’t help the twinge of sympathy that arises in an apology.

“Sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for Iwa-chan,” Oikawa brushes off. “I’m glad I came today. Your mum is a wonderful chef. You should count your blessings. And I’m looking forward to my ginger pork with garlic sauce.”

“Yeah yeah,” Iwaizumi says, relieved that he catches no pretence in his words. Yet, there’s something Oikawa is not saying, something he’s skirted around since they got together.

Iwaizumi has a rough idea how Oikawa’s mother is like with him, judging from the way he gripes about it. His father is more of a black box that he can’t begin to figure out. But all things considered, Iwaizumi would say his understanding of their dynamics is scarce at best.

Oikawa’s careful avoidance of the matter doesn’t escape his attention, but neither has he brought it up because it’s clearly a sensitive topic for him. But today has surfaced some of his buried emotions, and Iwaizumi believes now’s a good time as any to ask. He’ll never know if he doesn’t ask.

“Hey,” he begins, chancing a glance at Oikawa. “I noticed you don’t talk about your family much. What are they like?”

“Oh?” Oikawa lilts in mock jest. “Iwa-chan is interested in my background?”

“I am,” he affirms, steely eyes making Oikawa’s playful gaze falter. “I want to know.”

He looks too serious for Oikawa to continue playing it off like it doesn’t bother him so he sighs, digging his heels into the sand to stretch out his legs.

“Well you know how my mother is,” he reminds, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “She’s strict, high-handed, and a true ice queen. All she does is tell me what I should or shouldn’t do and most of the time, it’s to do with the company. Sometimes, I think she cares more about the success of the company than my own well-being.”

Oikawa Ishina is not an official employee of Aoba Johsai, but as the CEO’s wife, she keeps herself plugged in to important matters and holds the duty of engaging their clients and partners in high regard. Undoubtedly, she expects her son, who would one day take over the reins, to do the same.

“As for my father,” Oikawa scoffs. “He’s not around often enough for me to have anything to say about him.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows rise, surprised that Oikawa, considering all the plans about being the successor, has grown up with an absent father.

“I mean we get along fine,” he divulges. “But he’s a people-person, he gets along fine with _everyone_. So I don’t really feel like we’re close? I don’t think he’s ever taken me to a sports game except to meet his associates, or attended any of my piano recitals. I suppose you can say he’s a free spirit. He does what he wants and nobody can control him, not even mother.”

They fall into silence, with only the creak from the metal chains of the swing-set accompanying them. Dammit, this is the part where he says something encouraging but Iwaizumi can’t find the right words. He’s the one who probed, so he should at least _say something_. But it’s Oikawa who breaks the silence.

“Sorry,” he still has it in him to laugh self-deprecatingly. “It’s pretty depressing isn’t it?”

Before Iwaizumi can respond, Oikawa adds, “But it’s okay. This is something I’ve learned to accept. And my parents aren’t blind to the fact that we’ve always been dysfunctional. I think that’s why I’ve always had the suspicion that I was the result of a rare night of passion, given how far apart my age is with my sister.”

“You have a sister?” the incredulity in Iwaizumi’s voice is apparent. “I always thought you’re an only child.”

A sheepish expression rests on his features. “Yeah…I do have a sister. She’s seven years older than me. And I never mentioned anything about her because…well, because she left.”

The word doesn’t sit right with him. She did leave, but Oikawa wonders if she had any other choice.

Iwaizumi stares at him in bafflement. Did he mean that she left as in she walked out of their lives, or left as in she…? He waits for Oikawa to continue, which he does while reaching up to grip the handles of his seat.

“We have a pretty big age gap, but we were very close,” he says with fondness. In spite of all that has happened, he will always remember her as the person he could confide in and not worry about being judged or reprimanded. “She would listen to my ramblings and complaints, and she’d always know what to say. She’d sneak me ice-cream when mother wasn’t looking and buy me books about the galaxies and stars to keep in secret. For some reason, mother wasn’t as strict with her as she was with me, but perhaps it’s because she’s a feisty one, even in front of her.”

Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi’s eyes focused on him, just as he is listening intently. His fingers are going numb with the coldness that seeps from the metal chains, so he releases them to bring his palms together in his lap.

“After we moved back from America, she got into a relationship with a guy she met in university,” he carries on. “He wasn’t part of a rich family or an heir to some empire, he was just a normal guy. And I could tell she loved him very much.”

He smiles wryly at Iwaizumi, recognising the familiarity of it. Oikawa’s caught glimpses of him when she secretly brings him over and he’s only met him once – when he was tasked to be a messenger. They seemed to be in the middle of a huge argument then, with Oikawa’s sister refusing to meet him or reply to his messages, which compelled him to seek her out at their house. The charcoal-haired, blue-eyed boy passed him one message – _‘I want it’_ – and implored Oikawa to convey it to his sister, all the while apologizing profusely for getting him caught up in this mess that Oikawa was none the wiser about.

At that time, high-schooler Oikawa had no idea that relaying that one message to his sister was the catalyst of a falling out.

“In their final year of university, just before graduation, they found out she was expecting,” he recounts, remembering the series of unpleasant incidents in bits and pieces. For the most part, he kept himself out of it out of fear and helplessness. “Mother was already disapproving of their relationship to begin with, so obviously she was seething with anger over the turn of events. But she went as far as to tell her to get rid of the baby.”

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath. For someone to tell their flesh and blood to do something like that – he wonders what else she’s capable of.

“They’ve had many arguments since she got together with him, but that was the last straw it seemed,” Oikawa says, hair falling over downcast eyes. “The next thing I know, she had already packed her things and left.”

Suddenly, there’s a warm hand on his and Oikawa looks up startled to see that Iwaizumi has reached out to hold him, a crease in his eyebrows and mouth set in a frown.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, having nothing else to offer.

Oikawa manages a small smile and intertwines their fingers. There’s a sense of liberation knowing that this is no longer a truth that only he bears. There’s more he wants to tell Iwaizumi, but it’s the part he’s not proud of. Then again, he’s not pleased with a lot of things he’s said and done, but it still led him to this very moment – fingers laced with the gruffest boy’s at a playground in Miyagi.

“I resented her for it at first,” he confesses ruefully, the words sounding ugly out of his mouth. “It was supposed to be me and her against the tyranny of our mother, but suddenly I was alone in that stupid—big—empty house.”

He doesn’t remember the days after her departure, but the feelings of abandonment and loneliness that follow are things he’ll remember with merciless clarity. Recounting this now after years of bottling it up is like reliving it all over again, and there are tears forming in his eyes but they don’t fall.

“She was the first person I came out to, the first person to tell me that it’s okay. She stood up for me to our mother and she was there for me for so many parts of my life and all of a sudden she just leaves?”

Time had plastered a little band-aid over his wound, but he never really got closure from it, so he can’t simply lay the lingering confusion and hurt to rest.

“But you could never hate her could you?” Iwaizumi asks, curling his fingers more tightly around Oikawa’s.

“No,” he validates, comforted by the confidence in Iwaizumi’s words. “Not when I came to understand why she chose to do what she did. How could she give up her kid for a reason like that? The Oikawa Seina I know would watch the world burn before allowing that to happen.”

Iwaizumi grins along with him, light and easy, and catches an unshed tear from his lower lashes. The gesture makes Oikawa look down shyly, tongue peeking out to wet his lips dry from the chill. The older boy imagines it must have been years since he last saw his sister, and time truly is medicine, so perhaps a second chance is due?

“Have you tried reaching out to her again?” Iwaizumi wonders.

Oikawa sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mother didn’t allow me to. But I actually found her on Instagram,” he says. His brown eyes light up for a brief moment when he adds, “Do you know she has her own shop in Kanagawa where she makes and sells her own jewellery? They’re very pretty. And she posts about her family sometimes. I think her kid looks about four now? I can’t believe that’s my _nephew_.”

His delight over that fact tugs on Iwaizumi’s heartstrings, though not as much as knowing that he’s still bound by his mother’s orders, and that nothing came out of that Instagram search if Oikawa is still as affected about it as he is.

True enough, the gleam in his eyes wanes as he says, “I thought about contacting her…but in the end, I couldn’t do it. She looks so happy you know? With her husband and her kid and her shop. If I reach out to her so suddenly, I’m just going to disrupt her life.”

Oikawa startles when Iwaizumi yanks the metal chain of his swing towards him. His seat swivels to face Iwaizumi, who tells him with a sureness in his voice, “I don’t think she’ll see it that way. For all you know, she might be feeling sorry after all this time.”

“Even so, what good would it do if I appeared out of nowhere?” he argues with a sigh. He isn’t brave enough to show up in front of her and hope for the best. What could he do for her now that she has carved out her own path, free to love and free to live the way she wants to? What would he even begin to say after four years of separation?

“I’m sure she just misses her brother,” Iwaizumi tells him softly.

“You’re very optimistic Iwa-chan,” he remarks sullenly. “She might want nothing to do with me anymore. Maybe that’s why she left without saying a word.”

And why she’s never reach out to _him_ either.

Growing exasperated at Oikawa’s gloomy outlook, Iwaizumi stands abruptly to loom over him, caging him in with both hands on the metal handles and looking down at him purposefully.

“You’ll never find out if you don’t search for the answer,” he chides.

Oikawa can only gaze up at him in a mix of quiet surprise and admiration. Among other more pertinent thoughts in his mind, he thinks Iwa-chan looks particularly handsome like this, standing tall with that familiar resolve in his pine-coloured eyes, the dim streetlights in the playground casting shadows on his profile.

He bares himself to him once more as he whispers, “I’m scared.”

But Iwaizumi reminds him that he has more courage than he gives himself credit for.

“You weren’t scared when you decided to be with me.”

A small laugh escapes Oikawa.

“Trust me, I was,” he murmurs and reaches out to grasp the front of Iwaizumi’s jacket. His neck is starting to hurt a little from the angle but he ignores it to tell him with conviction, “You are—by far—the most rebellious thing I have ever done, Iwaizumi Hajime.”

* * *

The rest of their weekend in Miyagi passes by in a flash. Iwaizumi takes Oikawa around town – they visit his favourite ramen place that’s been sorely missed, they sneak into Iwa-chan’s high school after much persuasion, and Oikawa attempts to be helpful when Iwa-chan fixes his father’s old company truck. It was an idyllic weekend, and Oikawa wishes they didn’t have to return to Tokyo’s hectic life so soon. There’s homework to catch up on, classes to prepare for, and people he has to answer to.

But for now, all he can think about is how hot Iwaizumi’s mouth on him is. In the safety of Iwaizumi’s room, two university students pay no heed to the world outside, eager mouths and greedy hands reaching for each other.

Oikawa sits snugly in Iwaizumi’s lap, both knees resting on each side of his hips. The position grants him leverage to tilt his boyfriend’s head upwards by the jaw, sealing their lips in hungry kisses. But Iwaizumi is not without his own devices. With his back against the headboard of the bed, Oikawa a comfortable weight on him, he slips his hands underneath his shirt, jacket and sweater long discarded.

They roam over his torso, settle on his waist to squeeze the muscle there, before sliding around to scrape nails over his back. The feathery touch sends a shudder up his spine that ends in a breathy exhale. Oikawa chases his lips and slides his tongue against his, hips rolling forward languidly to create delightful friction.

He breaks the kiss to mouth at his neck, eventually settling on a spot above his collarbone. Oikawa nips and pulls the skin between his lips, intent on sucking a bruise there. Iwaizumi lets him, because the good thing about late fall is that you’re perpetually covered up. He’s certain Oikawa has successfully made his mark on his skin, and now he wants his mouth somewhere else.

Before he can reach down for his pants, the jarring sound of a phone vibrating from an incoming call forces Oikawa to pull away with a smack. He gropes around the nightstand for his phone, set on ignoring whoever’s rude enough to interrupt, until he notices who the call is actually from.

“Shit,” he curses, scrambling off Iwaizumi to grab his phone, alarming him in the process. He thinks he’s kneed Iwaizumi in the arm, but he can already sense the displeasure from the name that flashes in his phone. “Sorry, I have to take this!”

Sliding a thumb across the screen, Oikawa puts the phone to his ear and works up a calm voice, “Hello, mother?”

“Seriously?” Iwaizumi groans from the bed and Oikawa shushes him with a hasty finger to his lips.

 _“Tooru? Where are you?”_ his mother’s clear voice cuts through the line. _“We’re expecting the Hondos in an hour.”_

Fuck. He had completely forgot that he was supposed to entertain a couple of guests from one of the company’s suppliers. He’s never met them before and the demand from his mother came quite abruptly which he couldn’t refute, as usual. Having dreaded the responsibility from the moment the order was decreed, it’s no wonder it slipped from his memory.

“I’m on my way,” he lies. Iwaizumi frowns at that but Oikawa is hurriedly picking up his clothes from the floor to notice.

 _“Where are you?”_ she repeats. _“I’ll get Hakoda-san to pick you up.”_

“There’s no need,” he says quickly. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

He doesn’t prolong the conversation and tosses his phone on the bed to dress himself.

“Sorry Iwa-chan,” he tells him apologetically, tugging the sweater over his head and fixing his hair. “I totally forgot I had to be home today. We have some guests over and my mother wants me there.”

“Can’t you avoid it?” Iwaizumi grouses. They were just getting to the good part and being interrupted when you’re about to get it on is one of the worst feelings in the world. What did he do to deserve this cockblock?

“I’d love to,” Oikawa says sincerely, gathering his jacket in his arms. “But I really have to go.”

He plants a fierce kiss on Iwaizumi’s lips, a closed-mouth one that forces his head back, and gives him a last guilty look, “I’ll make it up to you!”

The Engineering student reluctantly lets him go, arm falling uselessly to rest on a bent knee. Oikawa slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves in such a flurry that he almost knocks into Hanamaki on the way out.

“Woah!” the pink-haired flatmate calls out, spinning on his heel to avoid spilling his bowl of yoghurt on Oikawa.

“Sorry Makki! I’d love to stay but I gotta go!” he throws the apology over his shoulder, scurrying to the entranceway to put on his shoes.

Hanamaki watches him disappear out of the door in the span of a few seconds with a definite click, and the apartment is quiet once more. He scoops a spoonful of mixed berries yoghurt into his mouth and turns to regard his flatmate from the opened door thoughtfully, whose rumpled clothing and frustrated scowl tells Hanamaki all he needs to know about what had transpired.

“Blue balls?” he ventures a lackadaisical guess.

“Fuck off.”

* * *

Oikawa only relaxes once they’re bidding goodbye to the Hondos at their front door. Fortunately, he had made it back in time by the grace of a well-timed taxi and smooth traffic. He managed to get changed in record time and escaped his mother’s reproach when the Hondos arrived just as he descended the stairs.

To be fair, it wasn’t that dreadful an affair. The aunt-nephew pair were pleasant on the surface and their exchanges were kept civil and professional. The older Hondo had a few years on his mother, and her nephew was about the same age as Oikawa. The four of them talk over cups of tea and Japanese sweets about their companies’ relationship, current affairs and occasionally the boys’ hobbies.

Halfway through, Oikawa wasn’t paying as much attention, his mind more preoccupied with furtively texting Iwa-chan. He only controls himself when he catches the younger Hondo watching him with a lazy smile.

Now, a couple of hours later, Oikawa gleefully watches their car reverse out of the driveway and retreats into the house for an undisturbed rest of the evening. But his luck runs out when he hears his mother call his name.

“Tooru. Hang on,” her voice echoes through the entranceway and Oikawa feels all the tension in his shoulders return.

“Yes?” he turns to face her, bracing himself for a stern warning.

“Where were you?” she asks for the third time that day. He was expecting a curt admonition, not the onset of a cross-examination.

“I was with a friend,” he answers vaguely, trying to maintain a collected voice. It’s not a lie, but the foreboding feeling sits heavy on his chest.

Oikawa Ishina regards her son with a brooding gaze. Her aloof expression makes her unreadable, even to Oikawa, and he wonders what could have caused her to react this way. He’s slipped up before, but she usually lets him off with a word of caution.

Nothing could have prepared him for what comes out of her mouth next.

“I know you’re seeing someone,” she clips, walking past him to enter the living room. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that his eyes are a perfect reflection of wide-eyed shock. Ishina picks up her phone from the coffee table, sharp eyes slicing up to meet his and adds, “Iwaizumi Hajime was it?”

“How did you—”

“I expected more from you,” she cuts him off. Did he honestly think that she, his mother, would not find out? She scrolls through her phone, not bothering to look at him as she continues factually, a disapproving tone on the edge of her voice, “He’s not affiliated with any renowned organizations, his professional experience consists of odd jobs, and he’s not in Hosei on a scholarship. Moreover, there doesn’t seem to be anything remarkable about his family background. Like I said Tooru, I expected more from you.”

“You _investigated_ him?” he spits out, irked. He hardly masks the disgust in his voice, because finding out that he was seeing someone without her knowledge was one thing, but looking into someone’s personal matters was an entirely different matter. The more she talked about Iwaizumi like she saw nothing in him, the more it rattled him.

“I merely had a background check done, and—”

“You can’t do that!” Oikawa exclaims, as if that was excusable. He doesn’t realize he’s approaching her in angry steps, hands curled into fists at his sides. Her indifference, a stark contrast to his own unravelling emotions, fuels his disbelief. “It’s a breach of privacy and _yes_ I am dating him but—but I can date whoever I want!”

He doesn’t find it in himself to be articulate, he just needs her to understand how she’s crossed a line this time.

Unfazed, Ishina tells him curtly, “You may think you know what you want, but you don’t. I’ve already tolerated your… _inclinations_ , but this is unacceptable.”

Oikawa learns, with that once sentence, that he was never truly accepted at all.

“How can you say that…” his voice barely above a horrified whisper.

“Tooru, you’re better with someone who we can relate to,” his mother tells him and she has the gall to make it sound like it’s a piece of advice instead of the hackneyed delusion it is.

“You don’t even know him,” he shakes his head incredulously, stepping away. “You don’t even know us.”

Vexed that her son doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the issue, Ishina says with an air of finality, “I know enough. And he is not like us.”

She decides to put the matter to rest and leaves no room for argument by informing Oikawa, “I’ve arranged a dinner engagement with Hondo-kun for you. It’ll benefit you to meet like-minded people. And he seems to be interested in you as well, so consider this an opportunity.”

He realizes then, why she had insisted he be present at today’s affair.

“I’m not going,” he states, yet he feels all the fight leave him.

“You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there’s an omake, sometimes there’s none. Sorry about the lack of one in this chapter.
> 
> About Iwaizumi’s house, it might sound big with two storeys and all, but if I’m not wrong, such houses are quite common and can be pretty cheap, especially in a less urbanized prefecture than Tokyo.
> 
> Name origin time – Papa Iwaizumi is 健心 (Kenshin), which means strong heart, because he strikes me as someone who’s resilient (Iwa-chan got his tough spirit from somewhere), and because his actions/words are full of heart (he’s supposed to be an admirable father figure in this story).
> 
> Mama Iwaizumi is 明優 (Ayu), meaning bright and kind because that’s what she is I don’t make the rules.
> 
> And lastly, Oikawa’s sister is精那 (Seina). The kanji for “sei” means spirit/energy, and is usually accompanied by other kanji to convey ideas of mentality, will, and being conscientious. I’d imagine she was named because she was expected to become someone who would have the attitude of doing things properly (as far as what her mother believed “proper” should be), just like how Tooru was expected to become someone who follows through with his actions (Tooru means to pass through). And Seina sounds like a pretty cool name. I wanted to find a name with one kanji (like Tooru), but alas, it was too tedious.


	9. exclusion vs. privilege

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual content again. Skip from "They end up in the bedroom in a mess of impatient kisses and hurried touches" and continue from "Iwaizumi wouldn’t have it any other way" if you want to avoid it!

Like-minded people, his mother said? How laughable. Hondo-kun and he are on completely different wavelengths. He’s easy on the eyes and smooth with his words, but Oikawa doesn’t exactly relate to his sense of humour and finds himself disagreeing with his views on multiple accounts. He isn’t that interested in what he has to say anyway. Ultimately, Hondo is cordial, but Oikawa doesn’t move past the contrived friendliness to be fully comfortable in front of him.

There’s no way he could manage that, when he’s dressed in a collarless wool shirt and casual suit and seated across him in a posh French restaurant against his own will. His guilty conscience weighs on him like a ton of bricks and he loathes himself for being so helpless against his mother’s bidding. They’re merely conversing, and Oikawa has every intention to head straight home after this set-up, but just being here in a cosy brasserie with another guy is enough to keep him unsettled for the entire evening. He wonders how he can even face Iwaizumi now.

The rest of their meal crawls by with Hondo carrying most of their conversations. Oikawa’s mother was right about one thing: he’s clearly interested in him. Oikawa can tell that much from his flirtatious speech and watchful gaze. With the complete and utter lack of mutual attraction, Oikawa doesn’t bother concealing his disinterest and if Hondo were to pick up on it, then that was his problem.

When dessert is left half-finished on Oikawa’s plate and the end of the tunnel is in sight, Hondo offers him a lift back home, much to his futile objection and chagrin. Wanting this to be over and done with, Oikawa reluctantly agrees to let him drive him back to the spare apartment where he’s supposed to be meeting Iwaizumi.

If he could have it his way, he’d rather not show his face in front of Iwaizumi today. But the dark-haired boy had suggested they spend Friday night together watching this movie he downloaded and it had not really been a question. Oikawa may have agreed, but he had also told Iwaizumi to come over later in the night, explaining that he’s got a dinner engagement to tend to.

It’s a good thing his reticence and listlessness cut the meeting short; it’ll buy him a little more time to change out of his smart casual attire but if Iwaizumi happens to see him like this, then the reason he came up with would come in handy. He feels the urge to break something at how unnecessarily convoluted this is. If only he had the guts to put his foot down and say no, then he wouldn’t find himself in such a pickle.

The moment the Chevrolet pulls to a stop in the lay-by at the condominium, Oikawa unbuckles his safety belt and says to Hondo perfunctorily, one hand already on the handle, “Thanks for the lift. It was nice getting to know you.”

Before his soon-to-be deserted companion can respond, Oikawa’s hopping out of the car, not wasting another second in a place he doesn’t want to be. Unfortunately, Hondo isn’t letting him escape that easily. He gets out of the driver’s seat and in two long strides, catches up to Oikawa and grasps his wrist.

“Hey wait up,” he calls, releasing Oikawa when he jerks away in astonishment. There’s a relaxed smirk on his handsome features as he asks, “Why the rush?”

“I have things to take care of,” he answers evasively, putting more distance between then. Did he seriously expect him to invite him upstairs? Hondo must either be horridly oblivious or downright indifferent and Oikawa surmises it’s the latter.

The wavy-haired boy regards him in amusement, something dark and ravenous flashing in his eyes when he steps towards Oikawa.

“Look, I know you’re not interested in me,” he says blithely. “But who says we can’t still have a good time?”

Oikawa balks at the brazen insinuation, no longer willing to hold back his aggravation at having to deal with all of this.

“We don’t have to like each other to do this,” he proposes, snaking an audacious hand around Oikawa’s waist to pull him in, neck twisting in a bid to have a taste of pale skin. The action comes so fast and sudden that Oikawa feels himself being tugged forward, his only defence was to shove his palms at the other’s chest.

“Don’t touch me—”

“Tooru?” he hears from a distance away and the unmistakable voice drains all the colour from his face.

* * *

Iwaizumi weaves through traffic on his bike, milk bread from the bakery tucked safely away. It’s finally Friday and he doesn’t have a shift at the auto shop tomorrow. There’s a movie he downloaded recently that he’s been wanting to watch with Oikawa. It’s an action film about an alien invasion that features one of his favourite Hollywood actresses so it’s a win-win really.

The roads are emptier at this time of the night, and Iwaizumi reckons he’ll be at Oikawa’s earlier than he expected. He remembers Oikawa telling him he has a dinner to attend but he can always let himself in since he knows the passcode to the front door. It’s mortifying how thrilled he is about seeing Oikawa, buying his favourite milk bread no less. He’d also be lying if he claimed he wasn’t hoping to continue where they left off the other day…god, he feels like a horny teenager it’s not even funny.

So it’s like the gods are playing a cruel joke on him when he catches sight of a familiar figure on his way into the building. That perfectly coiffed chestnut-coloured hair, that height, that maddeningly attractive face he’d recognize anywhere—it’s Oikawa.

Except he’s with some other guy who’s got his hands on him, his tall frame crowding Oikawa in and lips dangerously close to not anywhere Iwaizumi will allow. Everything about this scene is _wrong_ —it throws him into a state of confusion and feels like someone carved something out of his skin.

“Tooru?” he manages when he works past his initial shock.

“Iwa-chan?” the other boy breathes out, staring in wide-eyed horror at the earlier-than-expected Iwaizumi.

He watches fear, embarrassment and remorse all mixed into an ugly mess in Oikawa’s hazel eyes. He doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s making, but Oikawa is wrenching his hands away from the stranger, bolting towards him in panic. For a second, Iwaizumi locks eyes with the other guy, noticing how his predatory gaze dissolves into a blasé countenance, as if he’s resigned but not sorry that his prey has escaped from his clutches tonight.

“I can explain—”

“Later,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, stepping in front of him protectively.

He straightens to his full height, muscles moving underneath his clothes, more than ready to physically intervene if the need arises. The piercing look he pins Hondo with is frighteningly colder than anything Oikawa has ever seen on him, and it sends a shiver through his bones. Something about Hondo’s character sets off the alarm bells in his head. It’s not only because of what he tried to pull with Oikawa, but it’s also his devil-may-care attitude, like this is mere entertainment for him, that tell Iwaizumi there’s more to this than meets the eye. He’s aware that Oikawa urgently wants to explain what the hell is going on, but it’s not safe to do this here.

Iwaizumi’s unrelenting glower, dark and heavy, is enough to threaten Hondo into backing up to his car, recognizing a lost chance when he sees one but sneering nonetheless.

The Hosei student doesn’t watch him go before he’s taking Oikawa’s hand in his, leading him away.

It’s only when they’re on the other side of the front door, shoes and socks haphazardly strewn across the entranceway and milk bread thrown onto the table with a rustle that Iwaizumi wheels around to glare at Oikawa.

“Explain,” he demands, the controlled ire in his eyes just as severe, if not more, now that they’re alone.

Despite having the entire torturously awkward elevator ride to think of what to say, Oikawa realizes that he’s having trouble finding the right words now. How would he even start to explain why he was in the company of another guy? One who tried to have his way with him no less.

From the beginning he supposes.

Nervously, he says in broken pieces, “My mother…she found out about us. And she didn’t like it. So she set me up on this date.”

There’s a lot to put together from those few cautious words. But Iwaizumi simply needs to know, “Couldn’t you have said no?”

Oikawa’s head snaps up and urgency bleeds into his voice when he tells him, “I did Iwa-chan. I did.”

And yet, he still went didn’t he? He went and got caught in a regrettable state by the one person he didn’t want to be seen by. There was honestly no excuse he could conjure that could exonerate him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, lowering his head shamefully. He doesn’t expect his next words to absolve him of the guilt, but he needs Iwaizumi to understand this much.

“We didn’t do anything I swear. I was going to go home and never contact him again. I didn’t know he would follow me out of the car and try to—” he bites his lip, unable to say it out loud. He feels so pathetic it’s suffocating, and Oikawa can only offer nothing more than a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Iwaizumi sighs heavily. This is not how he hoped his Friday night would go. He hears the sincerity behind Oikawa’s words, trusting him enough to know that what had happened was done against his wishes. He’s quite certain that Oikawa can hold his own when push comes to shove, but he’s still relieved that he turned up in time to prevent anything from escalating. Iwaizumi hates what he saw, and to realize that some slimy guy had come close to assaulting _his_ partner, he has to take a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Come here,” he mumbles after an exhale, stretching out a hand towards Oikawa and guiding him in by the wrists. Tilting his head so that he can meet Oikawa’s downcast eyes, Iwaizumi asks quietly, “Did he try anything else with you?”

“No,” Oikawa shakes his head, remembering how tactile Hondo was throughout their dinner and having the sense to avoid his every attempt to touch him—be it on the wrist, elbow, shoulder, ankle. “I didn’t let him.”

Repentance still reflects in his russet eyes but now there’s also a weariness that settles on his usually bright features. They might be able to look past the unpleasant events of the evening, but at the root of it all, the problem is far from over. Iwaizumi hasn’t forgotten what he had said at the start.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not just referring to the set up date, but to the unavoidable fact that his mother has found out about them.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The offer finally makes Oikawa lift his head properly, furious determination eclipsing his other emotions. He looks at Iwaizumi dead in the eye, catching him slightly off guard with the intensity of his gaze, and tells him resolutely, “I don’t care that my mother found out. I still want to be with you. I know I shouldn’t have let her coerce me into going on this date and I’m sorry Iwa-chan.”

He adds—softer this time—like the whisper of a snarl, “I should have tried harder.”

And does Iwaizumi know how much he tries.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore,” he assures, hands skimming up Oikawa’s arms to cup his jaw. He might not be as expressive, but whatever Oikawa feels about them, Iwaizumi feels just as strongly. In all seriousness, he adds, “But Tooru, you’re mine. I need you to know that you’re mine. I can’t watch you go on dates with other people, fake or not.”

For all the intensity of his emotions, Iwaizumi takes it all down with three sentences uttered in the span of three seconds. Oikawa’s chest swells with something inexplicable, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He doesn’t think he can ever belong to anyone the way he belongs with Iwaizumi. Oikawa will always be left wondering in awe how he can take in a damaged person and make them feel like they’re invincible.

“I won’t. I promise,” he vows, covering Iwaizumi’s hands with his own and hoping with every fibre of his being that he can see the earnestness in his heart. “I’ll tell my mother that I won’t go on these dates anymore. And if she insists, then I’ll—I’ll leave the house!”

While heartened that Oikawa would put that much on the line for their sake, Iwaizumi worries that he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into and might let recklessness take over. Moreover, this is his mother they’re talking about and from what he’s gathered about her person, there’s no telling what else she will resort to.

“Tooru, your mother set you up on a date fully aware that you’re in a relationship. She won’t let this go,” he fears, rough fingers slipping away from his jaw to brush his messy fringe away. “Are you sure you—”

“I told you before didn’t I, Hajime?” Oikawa interjects, conviction blazing in his hazel irises. He’s fully aware of the gravity of his words when he tells Iwaizumi, “I want to be with you. I know I’m terrified of my mother, but that’s for good reason. But you—”

“I’m not scared of her,” Iwaizumi finishes, and Oikawa’s pretty lips stretch into a grin.

“Then shut up and kiss me,” he says, although he’s the one who surges forward to seal their lips in an urgent kiss.

It sends Iwaizumi staggering back a bit, but he rights them with a steady heel, hands flying up catch the back of Oikawa’s suit. Tonight, Oikawa’s kisses are fast and eager, like the stresses of the day have culminated into a carnal need for release. He sucks on Iwaizumi’s lip and slides his tongue into his opened mouth, savouring the small sound of surprise he makes in the back of his throat.

Oikawa backs him up against the nearest wall, quick hands coming up to free him from his jacket and throw it carelessly towards the table. The rustle of plastic steals his attention for a moment, and Oikawa breaks away to ask him in a heady voice, “By the way, did you buy me milk bread?”

Iwaizumi takes a second to register the question, mind already cloudy with want from Oikawa’s sudden attack.

“Yeah, I did.”

The sweet gesture fills him with a new wave of affection, because Iwaizumi can express his love in the simplest ways and it always makes Oikawa feel like he’s handed the world. That said, Oikawa doesn’t think he’s in the mood to enjoy his favourite food now, favouring something else entirely.

“Thank you Iwa-chan, but I really need you to fuck me right now.”

Iwaizumi swears that mouth of his will be his undoing one day. But he has no business not to oblige to his boyfriend’s wishes, which happens to mirror his own, so he takes his mouth with renewed fervour and gets his fingers busy.

Oikawa is dressed handsomely in a slate blue casual suit for the bloody date, so now he’s going to rip it off him for a good fuck.

They end up in the bedroom in a mess of impatient kisses and hurried touches. Sweaters and shirts and pants come off without delay, joining one another in an untidy pile on the floor. Oikawa’s anticipation makes him take the lead, and Iwaizumi finds that it’s something he can go with when he’s pushed back against the sheets, a familiar heat settling on his hips.

An Oikawa who’s clad only in his boxer briefs straddles Iwaizumi, fingers splayed over his bare chest and roaming down his sides, the action accompanied by steady rolls of his hips. They’re both already sporting a hard-on, prominent by the tent in their underwear and straining even more with the friction Oikawa creates through the fabric.

It’s a truth that Iwaizumi will constantly be reminded of, and perpetually be thankful for, when he sees Oikawa’s figure before him—beautifully sculpted and bared for him and only him. He’s so gorgeous, creamy skin smooth under his touches and muscles defining his body in all the right ways. Iwaizumi adores every part of him, from the dip in his clavicle to the pinkness of his nipples to the birthmark just above his waist. He lifts his eyes to meet Oikawa’s darkened ones, finding a reflection of his own want in them.

Possessiveness washes over him because underneath all his love and adoration is the inevitable reality that he also wants to own Oikawa in every imaginable way.

“Next time,” he says in a low voice punctuated by shaky breaths. “If someone offers to send you home, tell them your boyfriend is picking you up.”

“As you wish, Hajime,” Oikawa sighs into his mouth with a smirk.

He presses a lingering kiss to Iwaizumi’s lips before trailing more down his neck and skimming them across his chest and past his navel. Iwaizumi’s breath hitches when Oikawa pulls down the band of his underwear to free his cock, glad that he doesn’t torture him with teasing licks or faint kisses. He goes straight to wrapping his mouth around the head, working his tongue around the length of him. It rips a groan from Iwaizumi and he closes his eyes in pleasure, letting his head fall back into the pillow.

Fingers come around to bury themselves in chestnut-coloured hair, nails raking through Oikawa’s scalp.

“Mmm,” Oikawa hums around him, appreciating the sensation but liking the way Iwa-chan is panting more. He bobs his head and sucks, hollows out his cheeks and laps at the tip. His mouth moves so skilfully around Iwaizumi’s erection that it’s hard to imagine he had been so nervous last time.

But nervousness is the last thing he feels when he’s with Iwaizumi. He craves for the intimacy only he can feel with him, physical or otherwise—yearns to expose and be exposed—chases after everything Iwaizumi can offer. He wants to see the expression Iwa-chan is making right in this moment, so he releases him and predictably, Iwaizumi cranes his neck to gaze at him quizzically, only for Oikawa to lick a wet stripe from base to tip and take him in his mouth again, hungry eyes never leaving his.

He picks up a quicker pace, and Iwaizumi has to pull on his hair to control him, light enough so that he doesn’t come spilling into his merciless mouth. Oikawa gets the hint and pops off with a wet sound, wiping his shining lips with the back of his fingers and sitting back up.

Kneeling above Iwaizumi, Oikawa hooks his thumbs into his underwear and slides it down his hips and thighs, lifting one leg out and the other following suit. He’s equally hard, the tip of his cock grazing his skin. Iwaizumi pushes himself up into a sitting position, ready to make Oikawa feel as good as he had done for him, but the caramel-haired boy has a different idea.

With boldness written across his face, Oikawa flips himself over and settles on his hands and knees, his bare behind an invitation for Iwaizumi to make his next move. Startled by the cheeky action but not fazed, he kneels over Oikawa and takes his time to savour the scene before him. Iwaizumi curves his palms over his ass, caressing the skin and kneading his flesh to leave pale pink marks in its wake.

One hand reaches up to stroke the small of his back soothingly, the other skimming past the cleft of his ass to graze against his entrance. Oikawa shudders, lowering himself on his elbows to give Iwaizumi a better angle. His pink hole twitches in anticipation, and Iwaizumi doesn’t waste another second to take the essentials out from the bedside drawer.

A generous amount of lube covers his fingers and he coats Oikawa’s hole with the lukewarm substance, hearing his breath catch in his throat. He fingers him with a single digit first, and Oikawa hums encouragingly. He works him open with two fingers, stretches him out with three until Oikawa is loose and trembling before him.

Iwaizumi slips on a condom but before he can take Oikawa from behind, the younger boy straightens his back and whirls around to face him. The puzzlement on Iwaizumi deepens when Oikawa pushes him down to lay on his back, straddling him once more. Just as he realizes Oikawa’s intention, the greedy-eyed boy settles on his cock and says—as alluringly as he can manage, “I want to ride you.”

Iwaizumi has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can say hoarsely, “Yeah—okay.”

God, he may be the one who’s handling Oikawa most of the time, but when he’s like this—lewd and shameless in his words and actions—it’s Iwaizumi who’s left giddy and powerless.

Oikawa does _all_ the work, following through with his intention with a racing heart and clammy hands. He lifts his bottom off Iwaizumi and lines his dick at his entrance. Balancing his weight on his knee and gripping Iwaizumi’s hip with his other hand, Oikawa relaxes and lets the tip of his cock meet his slick hole. He sinks himself on Iwaizumi’s erection, and the burn draws a shuddering breath from him.

Shaky hands come around to grasp his hips so tightly that Iwaizumi thinks is sure to leave a mark. Oikawa fills himself up to the brim, the pain so delightfully intense that he has to give himself a moment to adjust. With his nails digging into Iwaizumi’s skin, he starts a slow rhythm of bouncing on him, moaning at the sensation of being stretched open by Iwaizumi’s dick.

Beneath him, Iwaizumi can only wrap his hands around Oikawa’s waist, supporting his weight as he bounces. He’s enveloped in a warm wetness and tight muscles and when Oikawa becomes more frantic in his movements, it takes everything not to fuck up into him. Oikawa makes his extremely difficult when his name tumbles out of his mouth in desperate moans.

“ _Iwa—Iwa-chan…_ ” he cries out softly, the slapping of skin against skin blending with his whimpers.

No longer capable of restraining himself, Iwaizumi thrusts his hips upwards, sheathing himself completely into Oikawa and tearing a strangled cry out of him.

“ _Ah—! Ha…Hajime…_ ”

He fucks into Oikawa as the other boy continues bouncing on him and when Oikawa rolls his hips along with the movement, something red-hot explodes low in his body, blinds him for a senseless moment and wrenches a startled sob from deep within his veins. It halts his actions but Iwaizumi keeps up the punishing pace, driving up into him until he’s losing himself to how overwhelmingly good it all feels.

Oikawa looks like a _complete_ mess on top of him—strands of hair plastered to his sweat-kissed face, noisy moans and broken whimpers pouring out of his dirty mouth, cock slapping against his stomach with every bounce—and Iwaizumi’s orgasm steals all the air from his lungs, forces him to mark Oikawa’s skin with bruising crescents.

The brown-eyed boy can scarcely feel Iwaizumi coming inside with the way he continues to take him in again and again. Craving the delicious pressure he had felt moments ago, Oikawa rolls his hips once more, begging Iwaizumi— _“don’t stop”_ —and when he hits that spot, the spot that sparks a sensation so strong and unbearable, he shivers as soon as Iwaizumi touches his cock, whole body quaking as surge after surge of pleasure spills out of him in volleys of come.

His climax hits him so hard that come hits his chin, but Oikawa is too wrecked with how much his body reacts to every little movement to care. Iwaizumi milks every last bit out of him and he bites his lip as the pleasure lets up, hair falling over his glazed eyes.

Even after he’s been emptied, Oikawa’s body can’t seem to relax, his shoulders still full of tension, his knees quivering with how intense he came. Iwaizumi tries to offer some sort of relief by sliding his hands in slow, gentle caresses up and down his thighs.

“To—” he barely gets out before Oikawa is flopping down onto him with a satiated sigh, paying no heed to the come drying on his skin.

“I came so hard Hajime,” he mumbles tiredly, back rising and falling with weary breaths.

“Yeah, you were really good,” Iwaizumi praises, although normally he would attribute such an accomplishment to the giver, but Oikawa was doing most of the work this time. After all, he did a good job riding him.

Iwaizumi embraces him gently and reckons this is his first time experiencing a prostate orgasm and bloody hell, it was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. Next time, he wants to be the sole reason that Oikawa is picked apart like that.

“Told you I’d make it up to you,” he says out of the blue, smiling a part-playful, part-exhausted smile that Iwaizumi can’t see.

“Mm, you did,” he affirms but the stickiness that Oikawa had plastered him with is preventing him from fully enjoying their post-coital bliss. “This is kinda gross though, we should clean up.”

“I can’t move.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. This is the part where Oikawa becomes a needy boyfriend who conveniently loses the ability to do anything himself and wants Iwaizumi to take care of him and honestly, Iwaizumi wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Oikawa’s mother cuts off his resources slowly but surely. Slowly enough not to drown him all at once but surely enough to make him properly feel the effects of it.

It starts with the apartment.

She had been less than pleased when Oikawa told her that the date with Hondo went sourly and he would no longer be partaking in any such dates. He had side-stepped further discussion on his intention to continue dating Iwaizumi by cooping himself in his room and that was how they swept the matter under the carpet.

But his mother wouldn’t let him forget it. She doesn’t confront him about it; Oikawa Ishina is more subtle than that. There are other ways to back someone into a corner.

She gets the passcode to the spare apartment changed. If they were using it for their late-night rendezvous, then she just had to cut off their access to a safe space. It works like a charm, when Oikawa comes questioning her about it and upon realizing that this is only one of the methods she will employ, he saves his breath and steels himself for more to come.

It turned out not to be as bad as he thought. He finds himself spending more time in Iwaizumi’s shared apartment, even staying over sometimes, and they’ve lost some privacy sure, but because of that, he’s grown closer to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and delights in joining forces with them to bully Iwaizumi.

His mother confiscates the keys to the Lexus next. He doesn’t bother confronting her about it, after he asked Mie-san if she had seen them anywhere and she worriedly tells him that his mother has taken them. It’s likely that she knew about Iwaizumi’s part-time job at the auto shop and that her son might be using their car as an excuse to see him at work, and Oikawa scoffs at how she could believe a feeble attempt like this would be considered damaging. He’d visit Iwaizumi at the auto shop with or without a bloody car.

His allowance is next on the chopping board. It’s more than enough in the first place, but she slashes it by half in one sitting. Her intentions are two-fold. For one, she doesn’t want him to be forking anything out from his pocket for their dates and what-not. And also, she hopes it would leave him with no choice but to stop spending so much time outside.

That—Oikawa protests against. It’s too unreasonable for him to take it lying down, so much so that he raised his voice, something he never dared to do before. It ended in a huge argument that went unresolved, Oikawa walking away from it with his head held high and half of his monthly allowance left.

There are many ways to back someone into a corner, but these are nothing they can’t overcome.

Iwaizumi understands how her drastic action would put Oikawa in a spot, but the solution is simple isn’t it? All Oikawa needs to do is find a source of income, a part-time job if you will.

The Business major, who never had to earn his keep before, was reluctant at first but eventually acts on Iwaizumi’s suggestion. It doesn’t take him long to find one at a small café near campus.

It is by pure luck that he comes across _Kōhi Atsume_ , a chic little café co-owned by the entrepreneurial Sugawara Koushi and his supportive childhood friend and business partner, Azumane Asahi. He had been in the area and chanced upon the café which was conveniently hiring part-timers. Intrigued by its tastefully designed storefront and given that he was rather well-versed in coffees, Oikawa gave it a shot.

Now, in the wintry days of December, he’s two weeks into the job. Suga acts more like a peer than a boss which isn’t surprising considering he’s the same age as Oikawa, and also pretty impressive if he’s able to sustain a café while being a first-year in Meiji University. The co-owner Azumane doesn’t visit the café as often, seemingly busier as a student in the design department, and when he does, he’s usually engrossed with his laptop in a secluded corner of the café while Suga takes care of the customer-facing tasks.

When they’re not around, the shop is taken care of by at least four employees, which is enough to keep things going smoothly. Moreover, since it’s mainly frequented by students from nearby universities, Hosei, Meiji and Senshu being a few examples, they have a handful of regulars who stay for longer periods of time just to enjoy the peace and quiet while they study.

Besides, a job like this plays to his talents well. Thanks to his familiarity with the world of cakes, confectionary and coffees, and his natural ability to charm people, Oikawa picks up the ropes quickly and soon earns himself a page in Suga’s good books. He’s a fast learner when it comes to memorizing the menu and figuring out how to work the machines, impressing even his co-workers.

Speaking of which, he was surprised to learn that all his co-workers are students. Everyone is either a university or high school student employed on a part-time basis. They are…a colourful bunch, that’s for sure. The high-schoolers, a little ball of energy called Hinata Shoyou, Russian-Japanese Haiba Lev, and the earnest-looking Koganegawa Kanji are good workers, but they all share one brain cell.

It’s fortunate that Suga and Asahi can pick from Oikawa, Misaki Hana or Shirofuku Yukie – actually functioning people – to make sure the café doesn’t go under.

Out of all his peers, Oikawa finds himself on the same shift as Hinata more often than not. For some reason, their schedules synced with each other’s the most. And it was only because he aligned his to Iwaizumi’s. Hinata’s a senior in high school, and probably the only one who can rival Oikawa in persuading customers to order more than they intended. He does it differently though, with his sunshine personality and infectious smiles. He’s too energetic, too careless, too ambitious, that Oikawa can’t help but counter it with a dash of realism sometimes. That, and Hinata makes it _so_ easy for Oikawa to bully him, even though he was hired earlier than the Hosei student.

Iwaizumi visits sometimes, to check that Oikawa’s doing okay (he’s rarely not okay since he handles himself so well at work and at this point Iwaizumi knows Oikawa chooses to be _that_ way with him) and just to see him before he heads off to his next destination. He becomes somewhat of a regular and when he’s feeling generous, buys a cup of cortado. Like today for instance.

He drops by the café before starting his shift, Oikawa already dressed in the black uniform and khaki apron and working at the counter. The Honda’s at the auto shop, having failed Iwaizumi and waiting to be repaired yet again, so he decides a cortado to-go could accompany him on the commute to work.

Misaki-san is the one who makes his drink today and Oikawa, who’s on duty to wait the tables, serves it to him at the take-out counter with a Cheshire grin. As usual, he takes every opportunity to doodle on Iwaizumi’s coffee cup and this time, he’s scribbled his number across the ridges, complemented with a cheeky “ _call me_ ” and badly-drawn winking face.

The Engineering student spares it one glance and then shoots Oikawa an impassive stare, too accustomed to his boyfriend’s antics to give him a decent reaction.

“Aren’t you not supposed to flirt while you’re working?” Iwaizumi deadpans.

Not the least bit bothered by his lacklustre expression, Oikawa lilts with big brown innocent eyes, “But I’ve fallen in love with the customer.”

And just like that Iwaizumi has to bite back a smile to say, “You’re so dramatic.”

Oikawa looks past the roll of his eyes to notice the endearment in his voice but before he can use more of his unsupervised time to chat up his favourite customer, a certain ginger-haired boy pops up beside him.

“Iwaizumi-san, hello!” he greets cheerily. One thing about having your boyfriend visit is that all your co-workers inadvertently befriends him, especially Hinata, who can make a friend out of anyone.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says back. He’s met Hinata a few times since he shares the most number of shifts with Oikawa, and his earnest drive is not something Iwaizumi can fault. Besides his strikingly coloured hair, he remembers the high-schooler as someone who has a knack for concocting his own drinks, though they’ve never made it to the menu.

“I made this new flavoured drink,” Hinata rattles on, bright eyes gleaming expectantly at him. “Do you wanna try?”

“ _Chibi-chan_ , can’t you see we’re busy?” Oikawa cuts in, addressing him by the nickname he isn’t quite fond of. “Children shouldn’t interrupt when adults are talking.”

“I’m not a child!” he protests, although Iwaizumi would say the glare he shoots up at Oikawa is pretty child-like. “And you’re only a year older than me!”

“Also,” Oikawa says dismissively. “Didn’t Suga say not to serve customers drinks that aren’t on the menu?”

“I wasn’t _serving_ it to him. I was _offering_ it to him free-of-charge,” Hinata argues, defiance in his voice. “And how would I get Suga-san to put it on the menu if I don’t get people to vouch for it?”

Their little banter is cut short by Iwaizumi, who tells Hinata, “I’ll try it next time okay? I gotta get to work now.”

“Okay!” he grins and proceeds to make a face at Oikawa.

When he scampers away, Iwaizumi throws him a chiding look. “Don’t bully him.”

“He’s just so fun to mess with you know?” Oikawa reasons with a smirk, shrugging his shoulder. Leaving that behind, he points his chin at the coffee cup in Iwaizumi’s hand. “So you’ll call me right?”

“Yeah I’ll call you,” he promises, already looking forward to the end of his shift hours later. “I’ll come pick you up.”

“M’kay,” Oikawa says happily. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Iwaizumi replies, walking past Hinata at the counter on his way out. “Bye Hinata.”

“Bye Iwaizumi-san! Please come again!” he hollers out of habit.

Oikawa watches his back disappear out of the door before sliding his elbows off the counter-top to get back to a day’s work.

* * *

Towards the end of his shift, Oikawa receives an unpleasant surprise. It presents itself in the form of one Kageyama Tobio, who saunters to a seat after ordering something with Misaki.

His appearance, caught by Oikawa as he was coming out of the kitchen, shocks him into ducking down behind the counter, mouthing _“what the fuck?”_ and eyebrows almost meeting in a crease.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was that Tobio-chan he saw dressed like he’s about to attend a business conference? Compelled to confirm this, Oikawa grips the edge of the counter and pulls himself up to sneak a glance, hoping his tuft of brown hair and peering eyes would go unnoticed.

Yeap, that is definitely Tobio-chan sitting there looking out of place.

What rotten luck. To think he strolls in when Oikawa only has fifteen minutes left on the clock. There’s a slew of questions piling up in his mind but Misaki’s voice snaps him out of his train of thought.

“Oikawa-san? What are you doing?”

“Oh—uh…I was just looking for the—chocolate sauce!”

“That’s in the top cabinet though,” she tells him with weird look.

“Is that so…” he laughs nervously and Misaki leaves him to prepare Kageyama’s drink.

As he’s wracking his mind over possible ways to avoid Kageyama finding out that he works here, which is bound to happen because he’s on duty to wait tables today, his poor, reliable shrimp of a co-worker decides to join them from the kitchen.

In that moment, an idea goes off in his mind and Oikawa whispers fiercely at Hinata, “ _Chibi-chan. Chibi-chan!_ ”

When Hinata’s too preoccupied with whatever he’s rummaging for at the other side to realize Oikawa’s calling him, the university student groans exasperatedly, “ _Hi-na-ta!_ ” and beckons him over as he whips his head to him.

“W-What?” Hinata asks warily, Oikawa bending down below the counter-top and calling out to him urgently activating his fight-or-flight response. He approaches him with apprehension anyway.

Deciding that doing this here is too dangerous because Hinata will somehow give them away, Oikawa shoots out his hand to grab Hinata’s elbow and drag him back into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?!” he demands as the door swings to a close behind. “You wanna fight?!”

“Listen,” Oikawa says, swatting away his battle-ready hands. “I have to leave early, so help me cover the rest of my shift.”

“Huh? No!” he objects. To wait tables on top of his kitchen duty? No thanks.

“As your senior, you have to listen to me,” Oikawa declares.

Hinata refuses to back down. “I joined here earlier than you, you know.”

Touché but, “Age rank precedes that.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“I say it does so it does!” Oikawa bites back, desperately wanting to get out of this situation. He doesn’t even know why he’s making such a big deal out of it, all he knows is that he cannot, _will not_ , let Tobio-chan see him like this. It’s definitely his pride talking, but Oikawa’s acting on impulse more than anything to ask himself exactly why it would be embarrassing to be caught like this.

“Now go out there and do your best!” he says with a push, and shoos Hinata out of the kitchen before he can get another word in.

The boy stumbles out, face twisting into a manifestation of _“what the hell just happened”_ and any attempts to stomp back in there are interrupted by Misaki.

“Hinata-kun? Where’s Oikawa-san?”

“He uh…had to leave early?” he answers like a question because he’s not so sure himself. But whatever it is, there’s not a single mean bone in him that would make him throw his infuriating senior under the bus.

“Oh, then can you bring this drink to table nine please?”

“Ah…okay,” he says in resignation.

Peeking through the small window from the kitchen, Oikawa watches nervously as Hinata sets the cup of latte on a tray and makes his way to Tobio-chan.

Everything that happens after that plays in front of his eyes like a film on slow-motion. Hinata walks up to Kageyama carefully. Hinata doesn’t notice the table leg is slightly off-centre. He tries to say _“thank you for waiting!”_ He trips. The coffee cup topples off the tray…

…and latte flies in a low arc and paints a spectacular blotch on Kageyama’s pristine white shirt.

A moment of silence fills the café until everyone chooses to react at the same time. Kageyama’s eyes grow comically wide and he _yells_. Hinata starts bowing profusely, apology after apology tumbling out of his mouth. Misaki dashes up to the both of them with a towel. And Oikawa…well Oikawa buries his face in his hands and curses Hinata for being such a klutz. The scene unfolds before him and god, was Kageyama absolutely fuming.

He can’t bear to watch any longer when Kageyama starts directing his wrath at the hapless high-schooler as Misaki tries to calm him down. Overwhelmed with second-hand embarrassment, Oikawa slides the small window close and slinks away, returning Shirofuku’s, their chef for most days who probably overhead his and Hinata’s entire exchange, lazy gaze with a queasy smile.

Oikawa escapes to the staff’s locker room to change, muttering _“it’s not my problem, it’s not my problem”_ the whole way there.

* * *

It’s been two days since the incident and Hinata doesn’t get fired and nobody finds out that Oikawa had practically bullied him into taking over his duty. He’s a little kinder to his co-worker, if not for the twinge of remorse. When all is said and done, he successfully avoided an awkward encounter with Kageyama, who had stormed out of the café in a fit without accepting a refund, so Oikawa’s mission was accomplished.

His days return to some semblance of normalcy, but not really.

It’s hard to lead a normal life, or at least one he can be contented with, when he barely has a full conversation with his mother anymore, when his absent father continues to be just that, when he’s dragging his feet to class, his body physically present but his mind galaxies away.

Some days are harder than others. These are days when he’s slapped with a reminder of the circumstances he’s stuck with, circumstances he’s born into before he had the chance to defy. He may have a lot in life, but when it comes to the things that truly matter to him, he lacks.

Today, he comes trudging up to his room late into the evening, in need of a warm bath and good night’s sleep. Professor Mizoguchi had told him to hang back after class, and Oikawa thought it was about the recent assignment he turned in which he’ll admit was not his best work. But it turned out to be Mizoguchi advising Oikawa to participate in the intercollegiate business case competition (which is no better in his opinion).

The competition is a rather prestigious one, where students would form groups to solve real-life problems from renowned companies. The winning prize was an all-expenses paid trip to one of the company’s international headquarters and a generous cash prize. It’s not like Oikawa needed the exposure or the money, but Mizoguchi suggested that the experience would be meaningful.

He had a team that was lacking one more student and believed that Oikawa would be an excellent addition. His team of Yahaba, Moniwa, Komaki and Maruyama was pretty impressive, but Oikawa honestly did not have an iota of interest. He’s scarcely getting by his classes with his last shred of motivation; why did Mizoguchi have to give him another thing to dread? It’s sickeningly ironic that he’s offered something he’s already trying to find ways to break out of.

He’d accepted the flyer with an internal sigh anyway and promised the professor that he’d consider, lying through his teeth that he might be tied up with his father’s company. It stays stuffed in his coat pocket all the way home.

Oikawa wonders if it will make an acceptable excuse as he pulls out the flyer and tosses it on his study desk to prepare a bath. It lays folded on top of the loose papers there, one of the same kind with his course notes and homework, but a sore thumb that sticks out from a brochure on the _School of Astronomy – Admission Procedure_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god I did not make Mizoguchi Oikawa’s driver lol.
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing Hinata and I absolutely love him. After seeing Oikawa’s and Hinata’s interaction post-time skip, there’s so much more material to explore.
> 
> About the café that Oikawa finds work at, I named it as such because “atsume” means “to gather” in Japanese and the characters who work at the café come from the different schools: Karasuno, Nekoma, Fukuroudani, Datekou, Johzenji, and with the addition of Oikawa, Seijoh. “Kōhi” is actually a wordplay on the word “coffee” in Japanese, which is literally romanized as “kōhi”, and Suga’s and Asahi’s names – “ko” from Koushi and “hi” from “Asahi”.
> 
> Yes…I even wrack my brains to come up with a name for a place that I’ll probably mention a handful of times…
> 
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/project_ecto)


	10. grounded vs. skyward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act III: insecurities
> 
> The question is…can I or can I not write three smuts in one fic…?
> 
> Well the answer is yes because here's another warning: stop at "They fit against each other" and continue at "They’re up early..." to avoid the smut.
> 
> Anyway, I wonder if anyone realizes that Hondo is a name I borrowed from the Haikyuu manga? It doesn’t refer to that Hondo per se, which is why I never used a first name, but his appearance just made me think that someone who looks like that would probably be capable of this.

Iwa-chan’s mouth is wet against his. His kisses are full of tender affection and liquid heat. His touches are gentle grazes that turn into urgent presses that hunger for more. In the quietness of his room, Oikawa returns his kisses with an intensity that hardly matches his, responds to his touch with eagerness one notch lower. He likes kissing Iwa-chan, loves being touched by him, but today, with their assignments neglected and attention stolen by entirely different matters, Oikawa can’t muster up the same enthusiasm he usually feels.

When Iwaizumi had put away his half-completed assignment to watch Oikawa finish his, his hands had reached out to card themselves in his caramel-coloured locks, moving down to finger the shell of his ear, to trace the line of his jaw until they meet in a breathy kiss. Somewhere along the way, they’ve ventured from being seated at the low table to Oikawa leaning against the side of the bed, Iwaizumi savouring the sweet taste of Oikawa’s lips.

The younger student tries to reciprocate, he really does, but his mind keeps wandering. It wanders from Iwaizumi’s insistent lips to the brochure he swiped from the School of Astronomy’s office. It drifts away from Iwaizumi’s roaming hands to the chain of emails he had with the faculty member about the process of transferring – and learning that it’s not an easy bridge to cross.

It’s only when Iwaizumi is dipping his hand to Oikawa’s lower region that it snaps him back to reality. He’s only half-hard and he doesn’t think he can really give Iwaizumi what he wants tonight – not when his mind is miles away.

“Mmm…Iwa-chan, not tonight,” he breaks the kiss to whisper, catching his wrist in its place.

Surprise settles on his features for a while, but he offers, “We don’t have to have sex. I could give you head or something.”

Oikawa pretends to consider but eventually shakes his head. “I’m tired,” he says apologetically and manages a small smile for Iwaizumi that stems from everything but physical weariness. “Let’s just have an early night.”

“Oh…okay,” Iwaizumi relents, arms falling back to his sides when Oikawa gets up. He watches him leave to get ready for bed, puzzlement deep in his green eyes.

He understands that it’s normal not to feel up to it sometimes. But this was…unexpected. This was a first. Iwaizumi tries not to think what this might mean.

* * *

But that was only the tip of the iceberg.

In the days that follow, Oikawa is distant. He’s quieter than usual, the first tell-tale sign that something is bothering him. Iwaizumi tries to coax it out of him, but he cleverly evades the matter by changing the topic or distracting him. When Iwaizumi catches him staring off into space, expression empty but head full of whatever Iwaizumi isn’t granted to know yet, he plays it off offhandedly with an _“it’s nothing.”_

Iwaizumi isn’t so dense that he believes it, but he lets it go because he assumes Oikawa will come to him when he’s ready. Whatever it is that’s troubling him, it seems serious, and if Iwaizumi’s attempts to wheedle it out of Oikawa have been futile, then he’ll wait.

But his patience has earned him no answers and twice the frustration. Oikawa’s texts take a longer time to come in even when he’s not working and it’s a problem when it becomes a pattern. Iwaizumi hates thinking that he’s the clingy one, but Oikawa almost always texts back as soon as he can.

His thinning patience turns in questions, questions that Oikawa struggle to answer and that’s what scares Iwaizumi the most. What could it possibly be that Oikawa didn’t want him to know? Iwaizumi can already think of a few things. His questions escalate into an argument – Oikawa snaps to ask why he’s so hung up about it – and stuns them both into a wordless surrender.

Heads are bowed and apologies are uttered, but Iwaizumi never manages to completely forget about it. The accumulation of little problems, piled like a house of cards, stays in the back of his mind and brings out the parts of him that rarely sees the light of day. Only Oikawa Tooru has that effect on him.

It manifests itself in a preoccupation that has him tipping overly diluted coffee out of his mug.

“Yo Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki breaks him out of his troubled musing. “You like your coffee to taste like water or something?”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, eyes snapping into focus to see that a ring of coffee has surrounded the bottom of his cup. He puts away their electric kettle hastily and reaches for the dishcloth. Now he needs to make a fresh cup of coffee. Great. But maybe he doesn’t even need it. Maybe his problems will keep him up by force.

He doesn’t notice his flatmate regarding him with a quizzical look. Hanamaki climbs into a seat at their kitchen island, opting to clean off his bowl of cereal instead of getting seconds. Iwaizumi busies himself with fixing another cup of coffee and Hanamaki just – watches.

Normally, Iwaizumi would have noticed him staring by now and humour him with a clipped _“what”_ , but tonight not only is he oblivious to Hanamaki drilling holes into his back with his eyes, he had been distracted enough to waste a cup of instant coffee. How very un-Iwaizumi like.

Hanamaki is no fool, well Iwaizumi would argue that he is, but he’s a perceptive fool. Something’s wrong with his friend and he’s got a hunch it has something to do with his part-flatmate, Oikawa.

Trouble in paradise, he surmises. He supposes he can be a good pal and lend a listening ear. Iwaizumi looks like he could use an outlet.

“Hey, do you think Oikawa’s been acting strange lately?” Hanamaki cuts straight to the point.

He’s absolutely right when he thought Iwaizumi looks like he needed an outlet, for he spins to him with knitted brows and blurts, “You think so too?”

It’s never quite his style to keep things bottled up after all.

“It’s pretty obvious,” the fellow Engineering student shrugs. “Something happened between you two?”

The familiar crease appears in his eyebrows, “I’m not really sure? He just started acting weird all of a sudden.” He scrunches his nose as he tries to remember a time when he said or did something wrong but comes up short. “I don’t think I did anything to make him mad. I think something happened with him.”

Iwaizumi isn’t so childish that he would think he’s faultless, but this time, he’s genuinely clueless. And if he stayed constant, wouldn’t it simply mean that Oikawa was the one who changed? In what way, Iwaizumi doesn’t dare to dwell too much on.

Naturally, Hanamaki follows up with, “Did you ask him?”

“Yeah, but he always brushes it off or avoids it completely,” Iwaizumi tells him, cradling his new cup of coffee and pulling a seat across Hanamaki. He stares down at the brown liquid instead of meeting his friend’s eyes. “I just feel—that there’s something he doesn’t want to tell me.”

“Maybe it’s a personal problem,” he posits, recalling the few instances when Oikawa shared with them snippets of his dysfunctional family life. “He has family issues right?”

At that, Iwaizumi looks up and throws Hanamaki a nonplussed look. “But why would he keep it from me? He’s never had an issue sharing his family matters with me before.”

“It could be something he has trouble coming to you about, something he’s embarrassed to say?”

He considers the idea, and finds that it’s something Oikawa is inclined to do. He’s always been a self-conscious person and though he may hide it well, the act comes down in front of the one person he knows wouldn’t judge him. So for him to be unable to approach Iwaizumi, it must be something that’s too mortifying. The idea morphs in his mind until embarrassment and fear becomes one and the same. Because if it’s Oikawa they’re talking about, he’d definitely keep something like shame locked in a box with the key buried deep in the recesses of his heart, fearing that his horrid secrets will come to light.

“Something he’s afraid to say?” Iwaizumi guesses.

“Perhaps. Any clue?”

One comes to mind.

“I’m thinking…” he trails off, averting his gaze again. He’s avoided putting his fears into words all this time and now that he has to, a heaviness settles on his shoulders, and it could very well have been a person, because he feels them sink. The affliction in his forest green eyes is a far too foreign look on Iwaizumi. “What if—what if he’s beginning to regret all of this?”

“Regret what exactly?” Hanamaki questions with narrowed eyes, rising to attention. The underlying distress in his voice, thinly veiled by shaky composure, is something he’s unacquainted with.

“Being with me,” he manages softly. It feels ugly when he thinks it. It sounds ugly when he says it. But he hates the fact that it could be an entire possibility the most, when he’s exactly the reason Oikawa is thrown into the mess he’s in now.

Hanamaki tries to handle this with logic. It’s Iwaizumi, so he should be able to understand how irrational he sounds when presented with facts right? “Did he ever give you a reason to think that?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs in vexation, gripping the innocent handle of his mug. “But people grow tired of each other all the time.”

“I don’t know if we know the same Oikawa,” Hanamaki blurts, disbelief lacing his voice and staring at Iwaizumi like he’s grown an extra head. “But he looks at you like you’re his favourite constellation.”

“But it’s Tooru you know?” Iwaizumi argues, frowning at his flatmate. Why did he have to make it sound like he’s crazy? Frivolous, affluent Oikawa could have the world in the palm of his hands. Who could blame him for picking something better? “It’s easy for him to choose a new favourite thing.”

At this point, Hanamaki gives up trying to reason with Iwaizumi with facts. He sees that his foolishness has clouded his judgement and considers physically beating some sense into him instead.

“I’m pretty sure Oikawa would kick your ass if he heard you say that,” he retorts, swinging up his hand in a gesture of incredulity. “Hell, even I’m getting pissed off hearing you say that.”

“I’m serious Hanamaki,” he says gravely. He’s as lucid as he can be.

“I’m dead serious too!” the pink-haired student counters loudly, slamming a palm down on the island to make a point. The front door clicks a split second later and Hanamaki glances up.

Across from him, urgency builds in Iwaizumi, who believes his fears are not unfounded but he’s not here to make Hanamaki understand because he probably won’t, yet the words—seemingly taking a life of its own—are spilling out of his mouth, no longer willing to be kept in the confines of his bursting chest, wanting to be said.

“Listen!” he says hotly, whole body leaning into the kitchen island. “He’s—he’s always done what he’s been told—taking piano classes, majoring in Business, taking over his father’s company someday.”

Hanamaki’s not looking at him but it doesn’t matter.

“He’s always wanted out of that life, and I— _I gave him that_.”

“Um. Iwaizumi.”

“So,” he continues, unheeding. “What if this was just a thrill to him, a way to go against his mother and he’s finally realizing that it’s no longer worth it?”

Against all of the things that have been taken from him so unforgivingly, and in the circumstances he’s been forced into, could Oikawa really say that he has no regrets?

Fear bleeds out into the words Iwaizumi mutters. “I’m afraid one day he tells me that he’s done.”

“Then I feel sorry that I fell in love with a colossal idiot.”

That voice, so cold yet warmly familiar, arrests Iwaizumi’s heart. The chair screeches against the floor when he whips around to face the person who both soothes and haunts his mind.

“Tooru,” he releases in an exhale, wide eyes staring back at unreadable ones. “You’re back…”

“Yes, I’m back,” he snaps, russet irises flashing with fierceness. “I’m back to this apartment for the umpteenth time instead of my own house because I like it here squeezed with the three of you in this small apartment—sorry Makki—because being here feels more like a home than _that place_ ever feels.”

He stays rooted on the raised platform of their entranceway in his socks and a plastic bag in one hand, regarding Iwaizumi with barely constrained exasperation as he bites out—clearly still frustrated but not enough to mask the hurt that seeps into his voice, “How could you think that? That a few hiccups along the way would make me think twice about you?”

Iwaizumi’s careless but heartfelt rant rings in his ears. To be hit with the knowledge that Iwaizumi had doubted him, entertained thoughts that he himself couldn’t even begin to comprehend, is like a stinging slap to the cheek. Had their bond been so flimsy?

Inexplicable sadness floods his face, and Iwaizumi’s heart aches. Oikawa’s stricken eyes, its colour dulled by the day’s weariness, wraps a hand around his lungs, squeezes the air out of him painfully. But he’s already been hurting way before Oikawa’s sudden appearance. He might have declared that Iwaizumi’s fears are after all no realer than the Mad Hatter, but he _had_ gone through them nonetheless—and that was real enough for him.

“You’ve been acting strange Tooru. And you’ve been hiding what’s wrong,” he points out, strained. “What am I supposed to think?”

“That there are some things I have to figure out on my own!” he shouts, hands balled into fists and taking burning steps towards Iwaizumi. “That even if I behave differently, it’s never because I have second thoughts about us! That there’s a reason why I still come back to you, why I bought fucking meat buns on the way here!”

The plastic bag rustles angrily in his clenched fist and neither of them notice Hanamaki skulking away, taking his almost-empty cereal bowl with him.

Iwaizumi visibly flinches at his outburst. All of a sudden, the enormity of his foolishness drenches him like a bucket of ice water. He wonders how he ever let himself be so unsure, so haunted by irrational doubt—an antithesis to the very essence of his being.

“Did you really think that this is some grand act of rebellion against my mother?” Oikawa asks, more quietly this time, although the torment in his face is far from lingering.

His entire reaction to overhearing Iwaizumi, from the affliction plaguing his beautiful eyes to the shaking of his voice, tells him how wrong he’s been, and it’s the last time he’ll ever get it wrong.

Yet (there’s always a ‘yet’, because reality is almost always far less utopic), it doesn’t change the fact that his presence has created a heap of problems for Oikawa. He’s still on the receiving end of gossip and rumours even until now, as if he doesn’t already have enough people talking behind his back, his relationship with his mother only seems to exacerbate, and now he, who’s never worked for a dime in his life, has to juggle both a double major and a job with what scarce time he has.

Take Iwaizumi out of the picture, and all of these would miraculously vanish.

How then can he bear to put the person he wants to protect with every fibre of his being through that?

With a heavy sigh, he says, “Things would be easier if—”

“DON’T TELL ME THINGS WOULD BE EASIER!” Oikawa lashes out, hazel eyes aflame with pure aggravation. “I’ve had easy my _whole_ life—and it’s nothing I ever wanted! And now that you’ve found me and it feels like something’s _finally_ right, you’re telling me it’s easier if what? If we never met? If we never got together?”

“Tooru…” Iwaizumi whispers, shocked and frightened by the fury he never knew Oikawa could stir.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” he cuts him off, refusing to hear anything Iwaizumi has to say because so far, he’s only spouted nonsense. For someone who’s helped him to understand a lot of things, it’s ridiculous how he’s the one who doesn’t seem to understand one fundamental truth.

“You _saved_ me—” he breathes out, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes with a pained expression, wondering what kind of words he has to say, what kind of demons he needs to fight, just to make him see. “You saved me the very first time when I was drunk, you saved me from the police station, you saved me from a lame party, you saved me from my _mother_ …it’s easier that you’re here, not harder. _Why do you not see that?_ ”

He may look to him as his rescuer in many ways, but Iwaizumi realizes then, through feelings conveyed three metres apart by two people who’ve grown to build a home in each other, that Oikawa and all of his unbridled tenacity and heated words can raise him up in not quite the same way but is a touch of salvation anyway. Protecting and reassuring and all that, it’s not a role that belongs to him; it belongs to them.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, first and foremost.

“Save it,” Oikawa exhales sharply and the lethargy from today returns in two-fold.

He doesn’t want to fight anymore, because he can’t find the energy to feel anything but numbness, so he turns to flee.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi calls out, closing the distance between them in quick strides to catch Oikawa’s wrist. “Where are you going?”

“A walk,” he forces out, although what he really wants is to lay in the comfort of Iwaizumi’s sheets that smell of his earthy scent.

“Look, I get that you’re angry—”

“I’m not angry Iwa-chan,” Oikawa corrects, fully facing him. The hard lines around his eyes soften into something forlorn. “I’m disappointed.”

Iwaizumi lets his hands fall away shamefully. To be on the receiving end of that look, when he’s hardly ever fell short of expectations, is pitiful.

“I was stupid,” he admits after a pause, unsure of how else to explain his judgement but to chalk it up to pure absurdity. “I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you.”

He steps closer to Oikawa, an outstretched hand holding his in a gentle touch. He keeps their eyes locked, because he wants Oikawa to know this—that it goes two ways. “But you should’ve trusted me too,” he says firmly. The cause of all this remains unsaid between them and he’ll be damned if he lets it fester. Iwaizumi implores quietly, rather than demands, “Tooru, tell me what’s wrong.”

Oikawa’s expression shifts into something diffident but he relents to ask, “Can we go inside?”

They head to Iwaizumi’s room, still not realizing that Hanamaki had the decency to give them some privacy. Oikawa moves with deliberate slowness and it’s only until he sits himself on the edge of the bed, with Iwaizumi seated patiently at his desk, that he finally tells him with a sigh of resignation, “I’ve been wanting to transfer faculties.”

It shocks Iwaizumi that it’s as simple as that. It’s absurd that they had raised their voices at each other over a reason so straightforward and that sounds like it could be a good thing in fact.

“To the School of Astronomy?”

When Oikawa nods wordlessly, Iwaizumi puzzles over why he wore such an apprehensive expression. “That’s great isn’t it?”

The boy’s shoulders droop with the heavy sigh that escapes. “I’ve been talking to some professors recently, that’s why I’ve been busy,” Oikawa explains, observing the realization that flashes in Iwaizumi’s eyes. “It doesn’t sound like they approve of transfers easily. They talked me through the process and it’s…tedious—I’ll have to take an assessment and sit for interviews. They’ll consider my current grade but frankly it won’t count for much.”

He plays with a frayed thread along the covers, recalling the professor’s words and how the more he had heard, the more he questioned himself. Even now, the dejection he felt stays fresh.

“And my own professor isn’t keen on letting me go. He asked if I’ve discussed it with my parents but there’s no point you know?” Oikawa continues miserably, meeting one formidable wall after another. “And if I do go ahead with this, I’ll have to start all over. It’s one entire year wasted.”

Iwaizumi pushes himself off the chair and joins Oikawa on the bed. He’s not about to downplay the reality of those obstacles because they’re things Oikawa will have to overcome if it comes down to it, but he doesn’t believe Oikawa should let them blur his vision of his dreams.

“But it’s what you’ve always wanted isn’t it?”

“I don’t know Iwa-chan…” he hesitates, even though he _does_ know. Somewhere in one of the boxes he hides in his heart, it’s a truth that threatens to rise, and demands to be acted on.

Now that Oikawa has come clean about what he’s been ruminating about on his own recently, Iwaizumi needs to know why he was kept in the dark in the first place. He should at least have that much faith to confide in him. What was he around for if he couldn’t help him carry his burdens?

“Why did you think this is something you couldn’t tell me?” he asks, trying not to sound annoyed.

“I wanted to decide on my own,” Oikawa glances at him guiltily. “I just wanted to hear my own voice.”

For the longest time he was lost in the voices of others – people who were too caught up with imposing their beliefs and expectations on him to care what he had to say for himself. They could be intimidating voices that echo in his head, or whispers that torment him in the silences, or grim reminders that haul him back to reality. Whatever they are, somewhere along the way he’s forgotten to listen to himself.

Being with Iwa-chan, who’s as true as they come, has helped him to re-learn that. So really, he had no excuse not to open his heart to him.

“Sorry Iwa-chan, I know you wouldn’t have told me to do one thing or the other,” he apologizes, shifting closer to him as if physically seeking forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi assures. “If you needed space, you know I’d give it to you. But I wish you could have told me at least. I would have just listened.”

He’s frowning again, but Oikawa knows he isn’t angry.

“I guess we both did each other dirty huh,” he smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agrees, the smile on Oikawa’s face bringing him a sense of relief. He’s glad that they’re okay again, and brings up a hand to graze fingers across Oikawa’s cheek. He leans into his touch and closes his eyes when Iwaizumi sweeps them into his hair, the warm press of his palm against his nape grounding him to the here and now. “I missed you,” he hears Iwaizumi murmur.

“I’m right here.”

They fit against each other like it’s the way back home, mouths meeting in a gentle kiss. Iwaizumi’s hands cradle the back of Oikawa’s neck and Oikawa clings onto the front of his shirt. The heated emotions from their quarrel have abated, but are rising high again for a completely different reason. Iwaizumi deepens the kiss and the way Oikawa matches his ardour licks a fire low in his belly. He wants to feel every inch of his skin and taste everything he can offer.

Clothes are stripped off without rush and they take their time to appreciate each other’s bodies with roaming hands and reverent lips. Iwaizumi tastes the inside of his mouth, warm and sweet, ghosts his fingers against creamy skin until Oikawa is arching off the bed, lowers himself to join them at the hips. Oikawa sighs into his partner’s parted lips, presses long fingers against the ridge of his chest, wraps his legs around the back of his thighs.

Give and take, give and take. They strike up a pace they’re comfortable with, attention focused solely on each other. He doesn’t supply Oikawa with honeyed words, but Iwaizumi showers him with adoring caresses and worshipful strokes. And if Oikawa allows, he would pick him apart with excruciating slowness, watch him squirm and tremble under his care, and reduce him to a whimpering mess.

Because he knows Oikawa would, he saves that for the future him. Today, he takes it easy. Today—and every day that follows—he takes Oikawa in whatever form he comes in.

Oikawa has given everything he has to Iwaizumi, and he wishes he had more to offer. But he can give him the same things over and over again, and Iwaizumi will always wonder how he got so lucky.

The friction from the rocking of his hips becomes a yearning for more, so Iwaizumi lifts himself a little to look at Oikawa, supporting his weight on an arm.

“Get on your knees,” he asks of him and Oikawa obeys, turning over to present himself to Iwaizumi, smooth back and bare bottom and all.

Iwaizumi licks his lips and grips Oikawa’s waist to steady himself. The view of Oikawa on all fours in front of him, the smooth plane of his back and pale spine an impossibly seductive sight, is too alluring and Oikawa challenges Iwaizumi’s limits by twisting his neck to gaze at him through lowered lashes. But his eyes snap open as soon as Iwaizumi drags his cock along the cleft of his bum, snatching a gasp from him and sending a shiver up his spine.

It feels amazingly good to rub his length against Oikawa’s bare ass like this, even better when his boyfriend’s moans are nothing short of encouraging. Anticipation builds up in him like simmering water and Iwaizumi reaches over to rummage for the lube and condom.

He slicks up his fingers and Oikawa’s puckered hole, sinking his finger in slowly, always allowing him to adjust to the initial intrusion. Oikawa’s moan is muffled by the pillow as he feels the first stretch of muscle. Iwaizumi takes his time to work him open, slipping clever fingers into him and adding more to loosen him up. Oikawa takes him in perfectly, hushed whimpers escaping his lips the whole time Iwaizumi pumps into him and pulls at the flesh of his cheeks to open him up just so.

Iwaizumi kneads his ass with his other hand, enjoying the faint redness that spreads across the skin, and wishing he could brand Oikawa in other ways. His fingers feel incredible inside him but Oikawa’s dick twitches achingly, and it’s like Iwaizumi knows he’s begging to be touched, for his hand comes around to wrap deft fingers around his length, startling Oikawa into releasing a gasp.

He strokes him languidly, neglecting not one inch of him, swipes a teasing thumb over the slit of his cock. Oikawa digs his nails into the sheets, gripping them until they’re a crumpled mess in his palms, too overwhelmed by the fingers in his ass and around his dick to care that his moans are loudening and melting into broken whimpers. In an effort to chase that pleasure, he fucks himself on Iwaizumi’s fingers to a matching rhythm, feels himself leaking at the tip.

He’s shivering on his elbows and knees and while Iwaizumi thinks he could watch him writhe like this until he comes, he wants to see Oikawa’s face when he’s making such lewd noises.

Retracting his fingers, which tears a choked sob from Oikawa, Iwaizumi wipes them on a discarded shirt and says to him in a husky voice, “On your back.”

Oikawa takes a few seconds to gather his wits after being denied of such amazing sensations, but flips around to lay on the sheets, looking up at Iwaizumi with a pout.

“Iwa-chan, first you told me to get on my knees. Now you want me on my back. Make up your mind,” he chides with no heat behind the words.

“I want you every way,” Iwaizumi answers easily, kissing his temple and tasting the saltiness there. “Today, on your back.”

He wants to watch Oikawa unravel under his touches, wants to see how dark his hazel eyes can go, how his pink lips move around whines and mewls, how his body shakes as he’s filled to the brim. He’s so unbelievably beautiful that Iwaizumi wants to sear the image of Oikawa—as he’s pleasured and wrecked—in his mind.

So really, how can he say no to that?

In the end, he doesn’t—can’t say anything at all, and silently watches as Iwaizumi picks up the unopened packet of condom. The sight of the shiny blue foil jolts him to attention, and he grabs Iwaizumi’s wrist to stop him.

“I don’t want to use it.”

To say that he’s surprised is putting it lightly. They’ve never done it raw before, and Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa really knows what he’s saying. But the stubborn determination in his eyes is unmistakable, staring point-blank at him, and Iwaizumi might even guess that Oikawa had properly educated himself before making such a request.

“Tooru, it’s—”

“You know I’m clean,” he insists, the sincerity reflecting in his russet eyes is something Iwaizumi cannot doubt. “I’ve never done it with anyone but you.”

It’s not like he doesn’t want to. Hell, the possibility of experiencing Oikawa unhindered makes the blood rush in his veins and is frankly something he’s thought about before. He’s also got himself tested before and came up clean.

“It’s not that,” he says, glancing at Oikawa cautiously. “It’s gonna be messy.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Hajime, sex is dirty whether you use a condom or not. Fuck me like you mean it, or don’t fuck me at all.”

“Don’t talk like that idiot,” Iwaizumi scolds and goes down to gather Oikawa in his arms. He kisses his cheek and presses another one along his jaw. He hopes he can convey to him with loving touches and vague words only that this is more than just a roll in the hay to him. “I don’t want to just fuck you…”

The message hits home, and Oikawa feels a little regretful over his abrasiveness. He’s usually so delicate, but Iwaizumi loosens his restraints, makes him hot with want. Still, he stands by his earlier request. He wants to be filled with nothing in between.

The condom is left forgotten as Iwaizumi takes the bottle to lube them up instead. Oikawa is pliant and responsive underneath him, taking in his cock with a hiss and a moan. Times like this he’s thankful that Oikawa is delightfully flexible, with his ankles over his shoulders and knees pressing into his own chest, no hint of discomfort on his face—only pleasure. The way his hips rise off the bed gifts Iwaizumi the perfect angle to thrust into Oikawa, one hand anchoring himself at the side of his head and the other resting on the juncture of his neck.

The feel of Oikawa’s muscles around him throws him into chaos. Oikawa is hot and slippery and Iwaizumi’s mind goes into overdrive with every push he makes, every torturous drag of his cock in his ass. He’s sure he’s already leaking inside, and he makes every effort to keep himself from coming so soon, just to prolong each and every second of doing him raw.

Oikawa’s moans and cries puncture the quietness of the room and Iwaizumi remembers to appreciate the heady glaze in his darkened eyes, the rush of scarlet climbing high onto his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest as he pants. It’s one thing that he’s dazzling when he’s out there trying his best, _being_ his best—full of tenacity and power—it’s another when he’s laying beneath him, bared and breathless.

“You’re…so gorgeous,” he whispers against the shell of his ear. Oikawa shivers and remembers he’s said something like that too the first time they had sex. He prays Iwaizumi will never stop thinking that way about him.

Iwaizumi thrusts into him more urgently and Oikawa drives his nails into his back like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him from dissolving into a mindless puddle. He digs his feet into the mattress, rocks against Oikawa with so much force it pushes them up the bed. He feels so _full_ , and he knows without a shred of doubt that Iwaizumi is the only one who can satisfy him like this—who can make his chest swell with unrivalled love and adoration and steal all the words from his mouth.

With Iwaizumi, everything is too much and not enough.

Oikawa wants so much from him, and Iwaizumi gives him everything and then some more. The stretch around his girth is painfully incredible but it’s not the reason there are tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. Oikawa doesn’t want him to think that he wants to stop, and Iwaizumi reads him like an open book, cradling his face tenderly as he thrusts harder into him.

That—and the friction his dick makes with Iwaizumi’s abs—has him coming in frantic moans, shooting white fluid across his stomach and chest. His hole clenches around Iwaizumi’s cock, and Iwaizumi follows a while after, his orgasm hitting him like a crashing wave. He comes hard into Oikawa, having to slow to a stop when it feels like the sensations are about to consume him and even then, he’s still coming inside him, his cock pulsing weakly until he relaxes into a boneless heap.

Seconds trickle by into a minute but they can’t be too sure because time is an elusive concept when they’re panting hard and dizzied by pleasure. Iwaizumi eventually looks at Oikawa, who offers him a faint smile, eyebrows drooping tiredly over shining eyes. He presses a kiss to his forehead and carefully slips out of him, hearing Oikawa whine softly at the lack of contact.

When Iwaizumi leans backwards to survey his handiwork, Oikawa turns to his side, long legs coming down and pressed together. His come leaks out of Oikawa’s loose hole, surrounding the pink rim and dripping onto his ass. Iwaizumi wonders if he should be ashamed at what he’s done to Oikawa, but frankly, all he feels is fascination at the sight before him. He settles a tentative hand on his behind and pulls at the soft flesh, opening him up as Oikawa relaxes. The fluid oozes out like honey, dribbles down his skin to almost stain the covers.

“Don’t stare,” Oikawa complains, throwing him a meek expression, although he’s the one who suggested doing this in the first place.

Iwaizumi acquiesces, moving off the bed to clean him up with some tissues first. Oikawa sighs in contentment; he loves it when Iwaizumi takes care of him after they have sex. They know he’s going to have to clean up properly, but for now, Iwaizumi reclines beside him on the bed, stroking his knuckles against the small of Oikawa’s back in soothing patterns.

“You okay?” he checks.

He thinks about it. He still has the daunting task of transferring schools, his relationship with his family remains hopelessly frayed, and he’s running out of ways to split his time among his boyfriend, school, his job and the persistent responsibilities as an heir.

But then he looks at Iwaizumi, the very personification of a sanctuary, and he smiles.

“Perfect,” Oikawa replies, reaching over to seal Iwaizumi’s mouth in a kiss.

* * *

They’re up early the next morning, having had an early and restful night. It gives them the extra push to make breakfast, which is really just what they can throw together from the ingredients in their fridge – egg mayo sandwich as it turns out.

Oikawa, in a borrowed cotton tee and sweatpants, is mixing the bowl of mashed eggs and generous dollops of mayonnaise while Iwaizumi busies with washing the saucepan. It’s an uneventful Saturday morning, the both of them simply enjoying the quiet domesticity they’re rarely allowed.

The running water turns off and Iwaizumi treads over to Oikawa to check on his progress, lining up his body beside his. The mix is runny enough and Iwaizumi makes sure it’s edible with a spoonful (it’s only egg mayo, but his boyfriend has some of the most bizarre experiences in the kitchen). Oikawa pauses his preparation to look at him, the hint of a smile hanging on the corner of his lips.

“S’good,” Iwaizumi affirms, and presses a quick kiss to the side of Oikawa’s mouth, startling him. He misses the mirth blooming across Oikawa’s face when he turns to reheat the meat buns from last night. He thinks he’s heard Matsukawa using the bathroom, which means he’ll be coming out for breakfast soon. He’s finished his share and they don’t have enough eggs to make sandwiches for all, so he takes it upon himself to ensure his flatmates have a proper a breakfast today.

As the meat buns sit in the microwave, Iwaizumi lets his eyes rest on Oikawa from the side. He’s wearing his clothes, which fit snugly on him, and it’s loose enough not to show off anything but Iwaizumi can still appreciate the curve of his back and the sinews in his arm.

His mind drifts to the events of the night before, still fresh in his memory, and isn’t embarrassed when it makes his heart flutter. He’s head over heels in love with the boy who stands in his kitchen, sleep-mussed hair and rumpled clothing and all, and he wants nothing but the best for him.

Their conversation about transferring faculties pops up in his head, and Iwaizumi is aware that they didn’t exactly reach a conclusion about the matter. Oikawa still harboured second thoughts, but Iwaizumi thinks he shouldn’t deny himself the chance to chase his dreams, not when he’s had the courage to come this far.

“Think that should be okay,” he tells him about the egg mayo mash as a preamble and joins him in spreading them over slices of bread. “So are you going ahead with the transfer?”

He can tell Oikawa didn’t expect him to bring this up first thing in the morning but supposes it’s something he has to decide soon.

“Should I?” Oikawa asks back, although the question is a truncated version of the one in his head. _Should I take the leap? With the full knowledge that it’s going to be a bumpy ride and the stakes are high?_

Iwaizumi knew he’d ask something like that. But he stands by his view that this doesn’t have to be complicated. Daunting yes, but not complicated.

“Do you like astronomy?” he asks.

“Of course,” Oikawa returns without hesitation.

“Do you like business?” he follows.

Oikawa shakes his head.

“There you have it,” Iwaizumi tells him plainly.

“It’s not so simple Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs.

“I know,” he cuts in, before Oikawa can say he doesn’t understand because he does. “The first step rarely is. But once you take it, it’s half the battle won. And after that, you just keep moving forward. I’m always here.”

Iwaizumi reaches over to pull the plate of sandwiches from Oikawa. If he continues piling egg mayo like that, it’s going to spill out of the bread. As he fixes the sandwiches for them, his nose scrunches in thought.

“What was that thing you told me before? If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.”

Oikawa stills. It’s something he mentioned as a passing remark, and he doesn’t even recall what the context was. Trust Iwa-chan to remember the little things about him. And if not only Iwaizumi puts his faith in him, but he himself have once believed in those words to say them, then what more does he need? He lets out a short laugh at the simplicity of this, and Iwaizumi regards him quizzically.

And it’s so laughable now, when he thinks that Iwaizumi was turning himself inside out worrying about whether Oikawa regretted them. After all—

“How can I not love you when you make me feel so invincible?”

The question, more like a declaration loaded with tender affection and undeniable truth, takes Iwaizumi aback. He never thought his words held much impact—he says things as they are—but he seemed to have lit a fire behind Oikawa’s hazel eyes and Iwaizumi will add that to his list of accomplishments.

“Let’s make a deal,” Oikawa carries on, not needing a reply to his confession. “I won’t hide things from you anymore, so trust me okay? Especially when it’s about us.”

He cups his jaw and turns his face lightly for their eyes to meet.

“Yeah okay,” Iwaizumi promises, his features softening into an endearing expression.

They lean in for a kiss, eyes falling shut and mouths angling towards each other. There’s a mere inch that separates their parted lips, and they can feel the warm breath fanning in the space between them, until the sound of approaching footsteps interrupt their moment. They jump apart just as Matsukawa passes by, all dressed and bag slung over his shoulder.

If he realized he had almost walked in on them, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh hey, morning,” he greets.

“Morning Mattsun!” Oikawa chirps with a smile, while Iwaizumi mutters his own greeting with dusty cheeks. Even if they’re close, it’s still embarrassing to be caught in a tender moment with your boyfriend. He’s a considerate and private person, and he likes to keep such moments as they should be—private.

“So you guys made up?” Matsukawa asks, noticing that there’s a different air about them, making breakfast in their sleeping clothes and all.

The question takes them slightly by surprise, since it wasn’t him who witnessed their quarrel last night, but it’s not unexpected that he would find out.

It’s Iwaizumi who answers, “Hanamaki told you?”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa nods. “He called me up for supper and told me you two are having a pretty intense argument and not to go back yet unless I wanna hear you have either really emotional or rough sex.”

Matsukawa finds the blush it puts on their faces rather amusing.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi mumbles, looking away. For the argument or the sex, he doesn’t specify. Come to think of it, they (read: Oikawa) had been a tad loud and he’s grateful he has considerate housemates, even if they’re infuriating most of the time. He glances at Oikawa, who’s biting into his sandwich with innocent eyes, pretending as if he wasn’t the one who’s responsible for half the noise they were making last night.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matsukawa waves off. “Glad you guys could work it out. Anyway, I won’t interrupt your lovey-dovey time anymore. I’m off.”

“Wait,” Iwaizumi says before he can step into the entranceway. He takes out the reheated meat buns to slide them into a paper bag as he says, “Tooru bought some meat buns last night. Eat them on the way.”

“Nice, thanks Oikawa,” he says to the smiling brunette as he takes the bag from Iwaizumi. Before he goes, he teases his housemate with a smirk, “Thanks mom.”

“Shut up.”

Matsukawa finally leaves with a casual wave and the door clicks behind him, leaving the both of them alone once more. Oikawa has the cheek to turn to Iwaizumi with an impish grin and say, “I _was_ pretty loud last night huh.”

“You think?” he returns dryly.

Oikawa shrugs, and with the most nonchalant expression he says, “I can’t help it. I do enjoy getting my ass pounded by Iwa—”

“Do you not have any shame?” Iwaizumi grits out, a glower in his eyes and a palm to his dirty mouth.

When he slides his hand away, Oikawa’s playful smile is still there but he doesn’t get the chance to come back with another sassy remark, for Iwaizumi’s phone vibrates with an incoming call.

“It’s my mom,” he informs, picking up his phone from the counter.

“Oh, tell her I say hi.”

Iwaizumi makes a non-committal grunt before answering the call, finding it strange that his mother would call at this time. Usually they’d talk over text, unless they made plans to call or had something urgent to tell each other.

“Hey _‘kaa-san_ ,” he says. “What’s up?”

Oikawa can’t make out their conversation with the muffled voice on the other line, but it becomes clear that it’s no ordinary call when the more Iwaizumi listens, the more his frown deepens. He straightens his back on instinct, peering at Iwaizumi in concern and settling a hand on his forearm.

All of a sudden, Iwaizumi tenses and Oikawa watches the horror flood his face.

“ _Oyaji_ is…hospitalised?”

* * *

_Omake_

_“So? Why’d you call me out here out of the blue?” Matsukawa asks as he slides into the booth, shrugging off his jacket and facing Hanamaki from across._

_“What, I can’t have supper with my friend?” the Engineering student retorts. He’s even ordered enough yakitori for two already._

_Matsukawa stares at him, impassioned._

_“Okay fine,” Hanamaki admits and summarises, “Iwaizumi and Oikawa are fighting.”_

_The Humanities student arches a brow at him. “Like wrecking-the-apartment fighting or we’ll-have-to-apologize-to-the-neighbours-tomorrow fighting?”_

_He rolls up his sleeves and picks up the drinks menu as Hanamaki considers how to more suitably describe the argument._

_“More like shouting-they-love-each-other-without-actually-saying-they-love-each-other fighting.”_

_“How did that happen?” Matsukawa wonders._

_Hanamaki launches into an explanation while Matsukawa orders a drink and helps himself to the skewers in the meantime. The din from the other patrons is loud, but the wavy-haired student has no problems catching Hanamaki’s riveting account of a lovers’ quarrel. He’s certain he’s exaggerating at some points, but Matsukawa has learned to strip the truth from his stories when he wants to._

_The pink-haired student takes a swig of his drink when he’s done, and all Matsukawa returns for his narration is a vaguely thoughtful, “Wow.”_

_“Yeap, I suspect they’re making up right now so unless you want to hear them have either really emotional or rough sex, you’re better off staying here.”_

_“I’m not complaining,” Matsukawa says. From the way their quarrel unfolded, he agrees that they’ve probably worked out their emotions and all jokes aside, he never thought he’d see Iwaizumi reach such a vulnerable state to let his insecurities surface so plainly. “Iwaizumi must be in really deep to worry like that.”_

_“That’s what I thought,” Hanamaki concurs, although he sounds less concerned about it. “But I have a feeling they’re going to be okay.”_

_For some reason, Matsukawa doesn’t doubt that. If two people who are poles apart could find their way to each other, is there anything they wouldn’t do to stay together?_

_“I also have a feeling,” he adds purposefully. “That if Oikawa is going to be staying over as frequently as he does, we won’t be able to escape overhearing them getting it on all the time.”_

_“You might very well be right about that Matsu,” Hanamaki nods his head solemnly. He lifts his glass of Calpis soda to Matsukawa, the dramatic grimness of his features fit for a grievous loss. “To our innocence.”_

_Matsukawa mirrors his gesture in mock sombreness._

_“To our innocence.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we let Iwaizumi be the one who needs protecting and reassuring sometimes? Can our strong, reliable, unwavering pillar of support have a break sometimes? Let this be protect Iwaizumi hours.
> 
> So yes, Oikawa wants to transfer and this is the reason why pre-time skip second-years like Yahaba, Akaashi, Kenma, Kyoutani are the same age as Oikawa and Iwaizumi in this fic. I didn’t want Oikawa to already be in his second year in uni just so he doesn’t waste as much time if he transfers, so I made him a first-year, which means those characters can’t be high-schoolers if I want them to interact with Oikawa and Iwaizumi as peers, so I made them the same age here. Hope it’s okay.


	11. passive vs. active

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh mannnn, thank you for all the kudos and comments so far! I read every single one of them and I'll try to respond! Some of you are too kind.
> 
> Also, did anyone realize that the chapters titles kind of shifted focus? At first they were contrasts between a rich boy and a poor boy because I wanted to convey the juxtaposition of Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s experiences. But since chapter 8, the titles focus on the differences in Oikawa’s life, particularly, how things are vs. how he wishes they should be. Just thought it was a nice touch since the story also shifts from them getting together to them being together.

“I’m fine.”

“‘Fine’ isn’t you lying in a hospital bed after collapsing at home,” Iwaizumi points out, looming over his father’s said hospital bed. He acknowledges his sheepish expression before turning to his mother with the same scolding eyes, “And _okaa-san_ , why did you wait till now to tell me this?”

After that phone call from his mother, he had dropped everything and bought the next earliest ticket to Miyagi, not bothering to pack much. Oikawa came along with him, despite Iwaizumi insisting that he didn’t need to, but the brunette was having none of it. Iwaizumi had been so worried, yet tried his best to keep his composure, and Oikawa had grown attached to the Iwaizumi parents too—there’s no way he could let Iwa-chan deal with this himself.

“You couldn’t have rushed here last night…” Iwaizumi’s mother explains, standing by her decision to inform her son only this morning. “And we didn’t want to worry you.”

There’s not much he could have done but wait for the trains to run again the next day. That would have only made one more person worry and be helpless. She figured her son didn’t need that. Or perhaps two, since the day has brought two visitors to her husband’s side today. (They should be thankful; if she had informed Iwaizumi yesterday, it would definitely not be received well while they were in the middle of a heated exchange.)

She offers Oikawa an appreciative but apologetic smile, “Tooru-kun, I’m sorry that you had to come all this way too.”

Oikawa shakes his head vigorously, wanting her to know that he’s here on his own accord. “It’s okay, I want to. Did the doctor say anything else?”

He got a summary from Iwaizumi while they were preparing to leave but his mother did not elaborate much when they talked over the phone.

“For now, just that his blood pressure’s a bit low,” she says, settling a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder. “They’re keeping _otou-san_ here for a while to run some tests…make sure it’s not related to other complications.”

“I keep telling them there’s no need,” Iwaizumi Kenshin maintains, rising against the bed as if it’ll prove a point. “I just need to rest, drink more water, and I’ll be fine.”

“You’re staying here until the doctor says you’re good to go,” Iwaizumi says sternly, and to properly get his point across, pins his father with a warning look, although Oikawa notes the hint of fear in the wavering of his voice. “And even then, take some time off work. Take less shifts or go part-time.”

“Hajime…” his father says imploringly and it seems to Oikawa that they’re having an unspoken conversation behind the shared glances.

“You don’t have to work so hard anymore,” Iwaizumi says, more subdued this time. His dad is fine. He just had a fainting spell. They’ve always been blessed with good health, so it’s probably nothing, but if he continues to overwork himself, it could be _something_.

Iwaizumi is under no illusion how hard his father works for the family. He’s always been that way, just to give them a roof over their heads, to nurture Iwaizumi’s interests, to send him to Tokyo for university. And Iwaizumi’s been grateful since day one; he might not say it but the emotions are undeniably there and now it’s time for him to do his part. He’s just not sure if he has the means to in this case.

“But the hospital bill—”

“I’ll take care of things,” Iwaizumi assures despite the uncertainty in his heart. Oikawa finally understands what their non-verbal conversation was about. “You just focus on getting better.”

* * *

“Here,” Oikawa says and hands Iwaizumi a can of coffee that he bought from the vending machine. They’re waiting outside the shared wards, having been told to let the doctor conduct routine checks on Iwaizumi’s father, while his mother is allowed to accompany her husband.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles, turning the cold beverage in his hands distractedly.

Oikawa’s chest tightens at the sight of his boyfriend, troubled and helpless in a way he’s never encountered before. He doesn’t have all the answers himself, but he wants to be able to assuage his worries, if only for a little bit.

“Don’t worry so much Iwa-chan, your dad’s going to be fine,” Oikawa comforts.

“Yeah…” he says and draws in a breath, putting away his disconcerted thoughts for now. The coffee is appreciated; they had ekiben in the train but it hadn’t been very satisfying. At least he can count on coffee to take the edge off. Belatedly, he realizes that Oikawa had gotten only one can. Looking up at him, he asks curiously, “You didn’t get one for yourself?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “I’m not tired.”

Unlike Iwaizumi who had been kept wide awake throughout the entire two-hour ride, Oikawa had dozed off in spite of his decision to stay awake next to Iwaizumi. And when he awoke, he found his fingers still clasped with Iwaizumi’s.

“God, I am,” Iwaizumi sighs. “I need a nap.”

“Let’s take one together when we go back?” Oikawa offers, his light smile a welcomed change from the dreary air of the hospital.

“Okay,” he returns and reaches out to gently hold his fingers. “Tooru, thanks for being here.”

He told him not to come so as to not trouble him, since he’ll need to switch shifts with someone at the café, but Iwaizumi is beginning to understand that sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. Having Oikawa around is infinitely better than being here alone and even if he could still confide in him through phone or text, it’s not the same when their words are three hundred and four kilometres apart.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Oikawa tells him, linking the tips of their fingers together. The next thing he says is an attempt to coax Iwaizumi into letting him into his thoughts rather than a question he needs an answer to. “Are you stressed?”

Predictably, Iwaizumi claims, “I’m fine.”

For all his talk about not putting up fronts, Oikawa wonders if Iwa-chan realizes that he had echoed his father’s earlier words. Oikawa leaves it be for now, believing there’ll be a better time to do this. At this moment, all he needs is a good old hug.

He steps closer to Iwaizumi, arms coming around to wrap him in a light embrace.

“I’m always here for Iwa-chan too.”

Oikawa tightens his hold around Iwaizumi’s shoulders the slightest bit and the squeeze relaxes the tension in Iwaizumi’s body. His own hands come up to circle Oikawa’s back, as much as an unopened coffee can in one hand can allow. Oikawa’s sturdy body grounds him not to this fleeting moment, but to the reality that they are not one without the other.

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and lowers his head on Oikawa’s shoulder, burrows his nose where his neck meets his shoulder and breathes him in, slow and deep. Oikawa leans his cheek against his head and reaches up to thread fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair, the way they lightly scrape against his scalp sending a warm buzz throughout his body. In the presence of onlookers or not, Iwaizumi can’t resist pulling Oikawa closer to him.

A distance away, at the doorway leading to the shared wards, Iwaizumi Ayu bears witness to a tender moment between a supporter and the supported, the roles of which are not fixed to one or the other. She returns to the ward quietly, allowing them the reprieve that only they can provide to each other.

* * *

The mid-afternoon sun paints the Iwaizumi household a warm hue by the time they’re back, less Iwaizumi’s father. Iwa-chan heads straight for his bedroom, in need of a dreamless nap, and Oikawa follows. Once they’ve changed into more comfortable clothes and are laying on the bed, Oikawa finds himself propped up against a pillow with Iwaizumi curled up against his side, head tucked beneath his jaw, one arm slung lazily over his waist and legs tangled with each other’s.

He decides that there is no greater solace than being pressed against Oikawa’s warm and inviting body, and Oikawa hugs him close, his other hand carding through Iwaizumi’s hair in slow, soothing strokes. The comforting gesture lulls him to sleep soon after until only the soft sound of Iwaizumi’s even breathing drifts to his ears.

Despite the lethargy that radiates from him, Oikawa isn’t the least bit tired. Favouring something more productive (even though he had offered to take a nap together), he carefully extricates his arm from under Iwaizumi and makes sure he’s still sleeping soundly before padding out of the room to make his way downstairs.

There’s noise coming from the kitchen, and when it comes into view, he sees Iwaizumi’s mother checking the fridge.

“ _Oba-san_ ,” he calls, catching her attention.

“Tooru-kun,” she replies, swinging the fridge door shut. “Is Hajime asleep?”

“Mm-hm. He’s taking a nap,” he tells her and wonders if she’s preparing dinner, but she doesn’t have anything out on the counters. He hopes she is, then maybe he can finally have a chance to learn how to cook.

Iwaizumi Ayu makes a sound of approval. “Good. A rest will do him some good,” she says as she checks the cupboards next, reckoning that receiving such a phone call and rushing here immediately after had worn him out. Even if he isn’t physically tired, a short rest could rejuvenate his spirit. Turning back to Oikawa, she asks, “Aren’t you tired?”

“No, I’m okay,” he assures, stepping into the small kitchen. “Are you making dinner? Can I help?”

His offer surprises her slightly, but is much appreciated.

“Of course! I don’t think I have time to make anything fancy, so how about…” she ponders, then lists the easiest dishes she can think to make off the top of her head. “Grilled mackerel, spinach, tofu and miso soup?”

Oikawa doesn’t have anything to counter-propose so he says, “That sounds perfect. What can I do?”

“First of all,” Iwaizumi Ayu smiles sheepishly. She was supposed to visit the market today, but given the circumstances, she had to put it off. Well, at least she’ll have a companion now. “You’ll have to go to the market with me.”

* * *

Considering how he’s never set foot into a wet market before, the experience was…interesting. He witnesses again the din of the store owners hooking in customers with shouts of premium seafood at competitive prices and the patrons’ own haggling. If Iwa-chan’s mother wasn’t with him, he’d be lost in every sense of the word without a doubt.

But now that they’re back and busying in the kitchen (Iwa-chan is still napping upstairs but he should be awake soon), Oikawa focuses on his task of grinding sesame to prepare the dressing for their blanched spinach dish. It’s an easy first task, because Iwaizumi Ayu is smart enough to gauge what how competent he is in the kitchen before entrusting more complicated duties to him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, presenting the small bowl of ground sesame to her.

“It’s good. I’ll add the condiments from here. The spinach is cooked, so can you squeeze the water out and cut them,” she nods after surveying it within a second. She exchanges the sesame for the bowl of wet spinach and adds, “About five centimetres would do.”

Oikawa gets straight to it, plucking a long stalk of spinach and arranging it on the cutting board. He’s unnecessarily focused on it, and takes a longer time than he should when he tries to cut the vegetable into precise lengths. If he wasn’t so humourously serious about it, like he was on Shokugeki no Souma or something, he would have caught his teacher giving him amused glances.

She’s heartened, more than she is tickled. Whenever her own son helped out in the kitchen, especially when he was first learning how to cook, he had a perpetual frown on his face, and sometimes he had his tongue peeking out. Oikawa on the other hand, is generally less annoyed and more curious. But they both worked with single-minded purpose, and having the presence of a kitchen helper today brings on a wave of nostalgia.

It’s not her own son who assumes that role this afternoon, but she’s grateful that it’s this hazel-eyed boy who seemed to carry himself without fear even though he had a chest full of them, who turned up by her husband’s hospital bed at Hajime’s side.

“Tooru-kun,” she begins, hoping to show her gratitude as well. Sometimes, the simplest gestures are far more valuable than anything you can put a price tag to. “I’m sure my son has already said this, but thank you for coming here with him.”

Her unexpected word of thanks stills the knife in his hands and he looks up at her in surprise for some kind of explanation, but she keeps her eyes trained on her task at hand.

Returning to the spinach, he reiterates, “I wanted to. Hajime was really worried. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell, and being here is the least I can do.”

Their conversation continues over their own preparation, easy to understand even without sharing any looks.

“That’s a lot you’re doing for him already,” she says with surety, if the loving moment she caught them in this afternoon was anything to go by. She had never seen anyone put such a tender and solaced expression on her son before. Releasing a sigh of resignation, she continues, “That boy is so much like this father, taking the world on his shoulders. I know he carries a lot on himself sometimes, so I’m glad he has you with him.”

It’s funny how Oikawa always thought of it as the other way around. He’s always seen himself as the one who needed help as far as his inner demons were concerned, and that it was Iwaizumi who offered it.

“I’m not…that great,” he lets out before he can stop himself.

“Oh?”

“I mean—I’m the one who’s lucky,” Oikawa quickly amends, not intending to reveal the vulnerable side of him in front of Iwaizumi’s mother. This is embarrassing enough as it is. But he needs her to understand that he thinks nothing he has done can ever hold a candle to what Iwaizumi has done for him. “There are a lot of things I managed to do because of Iwa-chan. He’s like my pillar of support you know?”

The nickname slips out in the unfurling of emotions, but he doesn’t realize it.

“And who says you can’t be his?”

His eyes grow wide as he faces her, stunned by the simplicity of her question, and she regards him genially, three pieces of mackerel already laid out and salted on a tray.

Out of all the things life throws at him, has anything ever been so simple? Well, he can think of a few: falling in love with Iwa-chan was easy, learning to trust Iwa-chan hadn’t been difficult, knowing that Iwa-chan is irrefutably real and here was like second nature to him. It’s always Iwa-chan. But it’s always him too. And it’s high time Oikawa gives himself credit where it’s due.

Oikawa sets the knife down, wipes his hands on a dry cloth and fidgets with the corners.

“I caused him a lot of trouble,” he admits in a small voice at first, the events playing like old photographic slides in his mind. It’s mortifying to be confessing this, but the words come tumbling out of his mouth. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a handful. But I want to stay by his side—I know it’s selfish of me but I—…I want to support him too.”

He looks back down in embarrassment, until Iwaizumi’s mother settles a gentle hand on his cheek. It’s warm, and so kind, that Oikawa finds himself tilting into the calming touch.

“Then I know he’s in good hands,” she smiles serenely.

“Thank you,” Oikawa says quietly and misses the affectionate warmth as soon as her fingers leave his face. He believes it to be both a blessing and a cruelty that he experiences a mother’s love in a tiny linoleum-tiled kitchen three hundred and four kilometres from his hometown. Fortified by the many miracles he seems to keep receiving, Oikawa tells her without an ounce of scientific proof—just pure conviction, “ _Oba-san_ , we’ll get through this. I know we will.”

A little bit of hope can go a long way after all.

“I know,” she affirms, the confidence in her eyes matching his, although they’re soon replaced by an eager gleam. Clapping her hands, she says, “Now, do you want me to teach you how to make agedashi tofu? It’s Hajime’s favourite.”

* * *

It’s close to midnight by the time they’re ready for bed, and Oikawa is already climbing into the covers but Iwaizumi is still seated at his study, desk light jarringly bright against the darkness of the room. He’s hunched over a piece of paper full of scribbles and rough calculations, and Oikawa can’t see his face but he’s sure there’s that familiar crease in his forehead.

He knows he’s had an afternoon nap and he is no stranger to late nights himself, but some of them still need to sleep.

“Come to bed,” he cajoles, hands splayed out on the covers and legs snuggled within.

Iwaizumi grunts in response, taps his pen on the desk before leaning back in his chair to review his writing. Oikawa allows him a few more moments before he uses his forlorn voice, the one he knows Iwaizumi won’t say no to.

“Hajime, won’t you come to bed?”

True enough, he twists around to face his partner, makes out the small pout on his lips, and sighs in defeat. The light goes off, shrouding them in darkness, and Iwaizumi burrows under the covers to lay on his side facing Oikawa. They’re close enough that he can smell the faint scent of the body wash he uses at home.

Oikawa smooths out his eyebrows, even though he’s no longer frowning, but the action is calming so he lets him. Anything that eases the tautness in his muscles is more than welcomed.

“Are you still worrying about the hospital bill?” Oikawa asks in a quiet voice, pulling back his hand to rest in the space between them.

“Mmm,” Iwaizumi hums vaguely. “I can settle it…but it’ll put a huge hole in my savings.”

He’s already relying on his parents for part of his school fees, which he’s intending to take over from the next academic year onwards. But having to pay off the hospital bill is kind of throwing a spanner in the works. And he’s adamant about not having his parents worry over this. They’re not spendthrifts, but they don’t have much savings either and if there’s anything he wants to do for them, it’s to make sure they can live comfortably. They’ve done more than enough for him.

“Do you want me to help?” Oikawa chances, fully aware that he might be refused.

“With what money?” he returns, words lacking any bite. He knows Oikawa’s offer stems from pure intentions, but there are lines he would not cross. “If it’s your parents’ money, no thanks.”

Oikawa exhales sharply through his nose. “I have my resources.”

To be honest, he doesn’t—not really. His bank account is not exactly bursting with cash and most of it was from his allowance, which was slashed and will continue to be slashed. He has a feeling Iwaizumi knows this too.

“Then worry about yourself dummy,” Iwaizumi chides gently, squeezing his nose endearingly. “You never know when you’ll need it.”

Oikawa wrinkles it adorably and quickly adds, “But I want to worry for Iwa-chan too.”

It’s not fair that Iwaizumi has to carry his burdens by himself.

“I can handle it,” he assures. There is no harsh edge to his voice, just a mellow roundness that comes with the lateness of the night—from knowing that Oikawa is sincere and right by his side.

It’s enough for him, but as Oikawa watches him snuggle his cheek into the end of the pillow, he feels a compelling urge to do more. He wants to do something tangible for him but he knows Iwaizumi is right. He claimed he could help, but with whose money? The wealth belongs to his family and he also won’t go as far as to borrow from them.

Iwaizumi cracks his eyes open to end their conversation with one last request, “Don’t go doing something I wouldn’t do. Got it?”

After a brief pause, Oikawa relents, “Okay Iwa-chan.”

“Good,” he mumbles and yawns, pulling Oikawa closer to him.

Despite the nap he took, sleep creeps up to him slowly and surely, and the last thought his mind supplies is how the Kawasaki will have to wait.

* * *

“I’m looking for someone with orange hair,” Kageyama Tobio enquires at the register.

“Oh that’s Hinata. I’ll get him,” Haiba Lev chirps unthinkingly, but before heading to the kitchen to call his co-worker, whirls around to stare cautiously at the customer. “Wait—you’re not here to complain right?”

Kageyama scowls, equal parts confused and annoyed.

“No?”

He’s here to more than just complain.

“Okay great, I’ll get him,” he smiles and saunters to the back to retrieve Kageyama’s prey. The high-schooler waits impatiently in an otherwise peaceful café at this time of the evening, perking up when the silver-haired employee returns but with no victim in sight.

Until someone markedly shorter pops out from behind his tall frame to say, “Hi, I’m—it’s you!”

They boy doubles back in shock, amber eyes as round as saucers and pointing a horrified finger at Kageyama. Everything about him sets his teeth on edge, from his reaction to his face to his voice and to the fact that he almost cost him something major.

Kageyama grips the edge of the counter and leans forward menacingly, “Did you think I would forget how you ruined my clothes and made me late for my interview?!”

Hinata takes one apprehensive step towards him, only so this won’t devolve into a shouting match.

“W-We offered you a refund…” he tries to placate. This person, who looks to be as young as him, is far more intimidating than any of the angry customers Hinata has faced. And he currently holds the record for encountering pissed off customers. Damn it, why didn’t Lev warn him? If whoever this person is actually made the trip back to confront him about the accident before, then he’s in a bigger pickle than he thought.

“Did I look like I had time to stay for a lousy refund?” he retorts. “I just said you made me late for my interview—and it was an important one!”

The only reason he huffed out of café without pursuing the matter was because he knew he had to go home, change into a new set of clothes and somehow make it in time for the university interview. To think he had prepared early and thought that reviewing his notes in a quiet café would do some good, only to have this klutz spill coffee all over him. Even if he was only a couple minutes late, punctuality was of the essence and he had started the interview all frazzled and cranky.

“Well I’m sorry!” Hinata apologizes. What else did this guy want?

As if answering his question, Kageyama slaps a piece of paper onto the counter. “Then here’s the dry-cleaning fee. You owe me.”

Hinata drops his shoulder and approaches it carefully, peering at the paper while darting anxious eyes up to make sure Kageyama doesn’t lunge for him or something. He certainly looks crazy enough to do so. It’s a receipt, Hinata realizes—one of dry-cleaning services for a shirt, tie, jacket and pants? His eyes travel downwards and the total cost makes him sputter in astonishment.

“What kind of dry-cleaner did you visit?! This is crazy!!” Hinata exclaims. The fee is almost three shifts’ worth of pay! Did he visit the royal family’s dry-cleaner or something? And why the pants too?!

Unsympathetic, Kageyama argues, “You’re lucky it wasn’t hot coffee otherwise you’d be paying for my medical bill as well.”

Mouth hanging open in disbelief, Hinata panics, “I-I can’t pay you this much—”

“Take responsibility dammit!” Kageyama demands loudly, unwilling to let this go until he gets some compensation from this shorty.

“But—”

A hand suddenly comes down between the both of them, effectively silencing them, and Hinata follows the line of his arm to see that it belongs to Oikawa.

There’s a levelled expression on his face as he stares straight at Kageyama to say evenly, “I’ll settle it.”

“Oikawa-san?!” he calls out incredulously, the receipt and the ginger-haired boy pushed out of his mind for now. If he had met the Hosei student on the other side of the counter, he wouldn’t be as surprised. But his eyes are not playing tricks on him. That’s the exact same uniform they’re wearing, and Oikawa is standing half in front of Hinata, like he’s protecting him from Kageyama’s clutches.

Ignoring his apparent disbelief, Oikawa says coolly, “This is for that time Hinata spilt coffee on you right? I’ll settle your dry-cleaning fee. It was partly my fault anyway.”

“What are you…”

It’s definitely not enough to answer all the questions that Kageyama probably has in his mind right now, but Oikawa is trying not to do this here—in his workplace, in front of his co-workers and customers. But it’s time to face this head-on—if Kageyama finds out then he finds out—no more running. And he’s always felt bad about what happened that day, it’s almost a good thing that the chance to make amends presents itself.

“There are still customers around so we’d appreciate it if you refrain from making a scene,” Oikawa informs him calmly, his eyes still unreadable. “My shift ends in half an hour, we can meet outside then.”

In half an hour and as Oikawa expected, Kageyama is waiting for him next to a streetlamp some distance down the café. Upon noticing Oikawa approaching, already out of his uniform, Kageyama stiffens and faces him.

“So? How much is it?” Oikawa skips the formalities to get straight to the point, catching his junior a little off guard.

“It’s fine…” he murmurs sheepishly, a stark contrast to his earlier countenance.

“It’s fine?”

“I’ll forget about it,” he concedes. He’s not that shameless to accept compensation from his senior. Besides, that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now.

Oikawa huffs haughtily and waves a flippant hand at Kageyama. “Really Tobio-chan, why were you so calculative about it in the first place? It’s not like you can’t afford a small thing like this.”

His chiding tone makes Kageyama avert his gaze. “He made me late for my interview. It was an important one.”

“But you still aced it didn’t you?”

Kageyama didn’t expect that coming from Oikawa, evident when he looks up startled, but the older boy merely regards him impassively, nose slightly upturned. He’s right though, he did ace it—at least he felt like he did. While he didn’t start in an optimal condition, he recovered pretty quickly and all things considered, thought he managed to impress the interviewers and left the room in a markedly improved mood. The results are not out yet, but he was feeling confident about it.

His brief silence makes Oikawa exhale impatiently. If he isn’t going to say or ask anything else, then he’s not about to offer answers on a plate. “If that’s all, then I’m going.”

“Wait, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama cuts in before Oikawa can leave. “What are you doing working here?”

There it is. The older boy scrutinizes Kageyama, but as usual he finds the lack of ulterior motive in his slate blue eyes, just vivid curiosity. If he was being honest, he’ll admit that Kageyama was one of the few who didn’t make an enemy out of him; he did that himself. He sighs, turning back to face him fully and tucking his chilly hands into his jacket pocket.

“I found someone I like,” Oikawa shrugs, not bothering to hide the fact. If Kageyama is as plugged in to the grapevine as he assumes, this should be old news to him. He keeps his voice airy—a force of habit, a familiar mask of defence—as he continues, “And it got me into a lot of trouble. I guess you can say that I have to take care of myself now.”

“Oh…” Kageyama trails off. He’s heard; there’s talk about how the Oikawa heir got involved with someone unbefitting for a successor to one of Japan’s most successful companies. It surprised him as much as the discovery of Oikawa enrolling into Hosei did, and it seems like it’s a recurring pattern recently. Kageyama is not one to care much for such politics, but he does wonder about the why behind his choices, especially since Oikawa is someone he looks up to.

“Do you feel sorry for me? Well I don’t,” Oikawa says, trying to show that this isn’t half as dire as Kageyama seems to think it is. There’s something about standing underneath a dim streetlamp in a quiet roadside when the moon hangs bright and low, exchanging careful words with someone he believed for the longest time to be a thorn at his side, that lets the words flow out of his mouth as easily as the blood flowing in his veins. “I won’t say it’s easy, but considering what I’m trading off here, I’d say it’s worth it.”

Kageyama mulls over his words thoughtfully. Oikawa speaks so cryptically sometimes that it forces him to read between the lines. It’s a good thing he’s getting better at it.

“Does this have something to do with what you told me last time? About being where you want to be?” he asks.

The fact that he remembered their previous interaction impresses him. “A little,” Oikawa says after a pause and smirks at the younger boy. “Sharp as always, Tobio-chan.”

And that’s the part he doesn’t really understand. Up till now, he can tell that Oikawa is working towards something—some larger goal that he reckons Kageyama can’t comprehend and that somehow it’s making him forgo a whole lot. But what was it about his current circumstances that he sought so desperately to change?

Seeking to understand, Kageyama steps forward and presses on, more urgently, “What—”

But a boyish voice slices through the air and stops him short.

“Sorry for interrupting!!” the coffee-spiller suddenly appears, skidding to a halt next to them, bright orange hair unruly after he seemingly sprinted up to them. “But it’s not Oikawa-san’s fault that I messed up your clothes!”

Neither Oikawa nor Kageyama can get a word in with how he rattles on.

“I’m sorry about what happened but we’re really just humble café employees so please just accept this as a peace offering!” he practically shouts, shoving a flask into Kageyama’s unguarded hands. “Bye!!”

And with that, he takes off with Oikawa, leaving a bewildered Kageyama frozen to the spot and holding onto a flask decorated with cutesy pineapples.

When they’ve turned around a corner and made sure that the angry customer isn’t following them, Oikawa stops to catch his breath whereas Hinata looks like he didn’t even break a sweat despite sprinting here and there. That guy can _really_ run.

“What was that?” he demands.

Hinata ducks his head awkwardly, “I thought he was bothering you…”

Standing upright, Oikawa says ambiguously, “I mean yeah…”

Kageyama annoys him in general after all. He simply didn’t expect Hinata to come tearing up the street like that.

“Do you know him? You seemed like you did. And he knew your name.”

He finds no merit in divulging too much to Hinata. That boy doesn’t even know that he’s the son of renowned company’s CEO and he prefers to keep it that way.

“Just an acquaintance,” he says casually then fixes Hinata with a suspicious look. “What did you give him anyway?”

“It’s a new flavour I came up with! I wanted to let Suga-san try it but I forgot he wasn’t coming in today,” Hinata’s eyes flashes with excitement before he remembers what became of it. Glancing up at his co-worker, he mumbles, “And when I saw you outside, I thought I should do something.”

That guy gave off dangerous vibes and although he was only advancing towards Oikawa in a moment of eager curiosity, from Hinata’s perspective it was problematic enough for him to intervene. He had been baffled and a little concerned since Oikawa stepped in to help him at the register, and he knew he couldn’t simply leave his senior to deal with such an unreasonable and rude person alone. Even though he was the one who bullied him into covering his shift, Hinata doesn’t hold grudges. Also, he is pretty clumsy.

“Thanks, but I can handle him,” Oikawa breezes, tugging his jacket more comfily over himself and heading in the direction of the train station. Hinata falls into step beside him and he decides to tease him a bit, “He might come back to complain though, since you did just give him something you invented. Assuming he drinks it of course.”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to think!” he splutters, but recovers to tell Oikawa smugly. “And don’t worry, this is the _perfect_ blend, I just know it. I’ll definitely convince Suga-san to put it on the menu this time.”

It’s what he said about the last one too, Oikawa recalls, but that gave Koganegawa, the poor unsuspecting victim, the runs. Hinata’s concoctions are usually a hit-or-miss that Sugawara hesitates to include them in the menu.

“Honestly, where do you get your confidence from,” Oikawa wonders aloud with a shake of his head. He’s not entirely sure why Hinata’s so into experimenting with drinks and flavours when he’ll be taking a degree in sports journalism come spring, but he supposes it’s a passionate hobby of his.

Oikawa wasn’t expecting a serious answer to his flippant question so when Hinata tilts his head at him in response, amber eyes completely earnest and puzzled as to why Oikawa would ask something so plain and simple—

“If you really believe in something, you’ll do all you can to make it work right?”

—he finds himself at a loss for words.

There are not many people who can render him speechless, and out of all the people who can, he can’t believe it’s this hyperactive high-schooler with big ambitions and a bigger heart. He’s got to hand it to him.

“Yeah, I guess you will,” Oikawa agrees, eyebrow arched in amusement. He gives in to the urge to ruffle his hair with a concessionary smile and adds, feeling magnanimous, “Hey, let me try some of it too. I’ll vouch for you.”

“Really?!” Hinata sparkles, delight eclipsing any wariness he might feel about Oikawa’s sudden benevolence.

“Only if it’s really good,” he qualifies with a teasing lilt, discovering on the way home that Hinata’s personality is so loud it drowns out his worries.

* * *

“So even I have to make an appointment to see my own father?” Oikawa asks the moment he steps into the spacious office of Oikawa Kazeyo, CEO of Aoba Johsai Holdings and father of the Hosei student.

“Sorry sorry, did they make you wait?” the older Oikawa chuckles airily. “I’ll need to have a word with them.”

It had made the boy rather peeved that the receptionist told him to take a seat and informed him that the CEO will be ready to see him in a few minutes. Oikawa knows he’s not as involved in the company’s matters anymore, but she should at least know that he’s the CEO’s son. Whatever—it doesn’t matter anyway, since he believes he won’t be visiting much after today.

Oikawa seats himself on the cream-coloured armchair at one end of his father’s high-rise office, the view of Roppongi’s bustling business district below currently obscured by the drawn blinds. He’s been here a few times, but none of them are memories he holds dear. There is nothing much to having work-related discussions with your father until he needs to leave for his next meeting with other high-ranking executives after all.

“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of a rare visit from my son?” Oikawa Kazeyo asks in that flippant way of his, sitting across from him. He crosses one long leg over the other and regards Oikawa with vague interest, dark brown eyes boring into his son’s inscrutable ones. Normally, Oikawa would counter his father’s blithe attitude with his own, but there is no place for that today, and he reckons his father can tell as much. With a knowing smile, he adds, “I presume this isn’t a typical father-son talk.”

Have they had a typical father-son talk before? Oikawa can’t remember.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” he clips, and despite the levelled expression he’s wearing, his palms are growing clammy with sweat. The fact that he knows his father won’t care much for what he says – like he doesn’t care much for anything in Oikawa’s life – helps. “I’m in a relationship with a guy.”

The Aoba Johsai CEO doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even react. His handsome features are a picture of unbothered neutrality. “I’m aware of that,” he says, and neither does it surprise Oikawa. It merely goes to show that his father chooses not to be involved. “From your university I hear? What’s his name?”

Oikawa hesitates. He doubts his father will try anything – he’s too detached and profit-driven to do so – but it doesn’t mean he’s comfortable throwing out details about his relationship. And he has been so disengaged from Oikawa’s affairs, why would he want to know this time? With what happened with his other parent, he’s got to tread carefully.

Oikawa Kazeyo senses the trepidation in his eyes and waves a dismissive hand. “Believe me, I’m far too busy to meddle,” he assures, frankly a little affronted by the severe look on his face. “What’s his name?”

A pause, before Oikawa answers, “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Simply knowing his name won’t amount to much, but Kazeyo would at least like to know the name of the boy who could make his son seek him out for an apparently significant request.

“I take it you didn’t come all this way to tell me about your private affairs,” he surmises, resting his elbows on the armrests and lacing his fingers. He dares to add with a dash of self-awareness, “We both know I’m not the best person to advise in this area.”

“You’re right,” Oikawa agrees bluntly. His failing relationship with his own wife is a prime example of that. It irks Oikawa that he can still speak about it so casually. Stiffening his shoulders, Oikawa comes out to say it, “I want to sell my shares.”

It’s the first thing that incites a reaction out of his father, albeit a minute one. His eyes widen by a fraction, lips parting the slightest bit, before reverting to his usual coolness. Across from him, his son stares back with quiet intensity. It’s the same tenacity that people have told him they see in his eyes – when he’s about to close a deal, when he’s battling it out with associates and rivals alike in the boardroom. Things have taken an interesting turn, the least he could do is let the story unfold.

Neither of them have said a word yet, both Oikawas surveying each other’s reactions before making the next move. Eventually, it’s Oikawa senior who settles his hands in his lap before venturing to ask, “I believe you wanting to sell your shares has something to do with Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa nods carefully.

“His family ran into some difficulties. Hospital bills,” he clarifies to prevent his father from forming assumptions of his own. He doesn’t explain further, preferring to disclose just enough to paint an accurate picture, but adds, “I’m sure you’re aware that mother has cut off most of my resources. So I want to sell my shares.”

After deliberating about how he could help Iwa-chan in a meaningful way, he remembered that he held shares in Aoba Johsai once he turned eighteen. It had been his mother’s doing, a method to cement his and his sister’s involvement in the company and incentivize them to contribute. Oikawa was never too interested in the matter, and his attention towards it waned in recent months, until it could serve a purpose he cared about.

The decision to sell them was an easy one. He had no plans to be the successor of his father’s company no matter how much his mother felt it was his duty, no matter how coveted the position is. After gradually reducing his involvement in company matters, this is merely the last step in his quest to free himself from any more responsibility. His mother would certainly not be pleased about this, but he will cross that bridge when he gets there.

For now, all he’s concerned about is how he could put that money to good use.

In the seconds that tick by, Oikawa shifts in his seat, his father’s silence becoming more unnerving. He hadn’t really thought about his next course of action if he were to refuse. He just knows that he cannot leave here defeated. He’ll resort to—

“Very well.”

“Very well?!” Oikawa repeats, shocked. He had counted on being made to argue his case, not have his request acceded to so quickly and without question.

“Yes, I’ll buy over your shares,” Oikawa Kazeyo says, like he might be conveying his dinner order to the waiter.

“Just like that?” Oikawa asks breathlessly.

“Just like that,” his father assures, no tricks, no strings attached. It’s a well-known fact to him that his son harboured no interest in being his successor. He might be a detached parental figure, but he’s observant and aware that Oikawa’s plans strayed very far from what he initially thought would be his future. It’s a shame really, because his son had the makings of a leader – intelligent, shrewd, charming. They could have been a powerful duo, could have commanded so much under their influence.

But unlike his wife, he understands that it will be futile to force him into something he views as an obligation, rather than a passion, one that is devolving into a burden. He would know, having experienced it before. So he doesn’t intervene, doesn’t force anything on him, and simply lets him be.

There are many other individuals who would kill for an opportunity like this, and he could do with that kind of ferocious ambition.

“You know Tooru,” he addresses him by his name for the first time, uncrossing his legs and watching his son with something akin to solidarity. “We’re similar. We know what we want, and we know how to play the game to get it. Even, or perhaps especially, when we’re backed into a corner.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes at the comparison. He can’t refute it, but it’s not something he’s particularly proud of sharing with his father.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he tells him, turning to the phone on the side table to page his secretary in. She enters soon after, a manila folder in one hand.

The impeccably dressed woman, whose blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail and wearing an icy expression that could rival his mother’s, listens intently as her boss gives her a quick run-down of what to follow up with. Oikawa has seen her a handful of times, and each time he’s reminded of how undoubtedly beautiful and quietly intimidating she is.

The tall woman nods once she’s understood the instructions but before leaving, holds out the folder and requests for Kazeyo’s signature for an order they discussed before. Oikawa’s father makes a comment about her opportunistic nature, lips upturned in a pleased smirk, and imprints his signature on the document.

Oikawa watches their exchange wordlessly, and he definitely does not miss the way his fingers brush against her slender ones when he returns the pen to her, eyes flashing with a flirtatious glint.

All of a sudden, he wants to get out of here.

It’s no secret that his father is an attractive man with no lack of admirers and followers. With his tall stature, copper-coloured hair that frames a pair of enticing brown eyes, a matured face that retains all the handsomeness of his younger days and also holds the charisma of an experienced and well-learned man, it’s no wonder he was named one of the most attractive CEOs in Japan in some magazine his university peers were gushing about.

Oikawa is fully aware of this, and is fully aware that his father is so successful and so unfettered that he can have the world in the palm of his hand. He knows how much of a free spirit he is, with his facetious attitude towards most things in life, that he’s beholden to nothing and nobody. But there was absolutely no need for Oikawa to know that there was something going on between his father and his secretary.

When she leaves with a curt nod at Oikawa, heels clacking away, he realizes that he had been clenching his fists. Their gazes meet when the door closes and it’s his father’s knowing smile, unashamed and unbothered, that irks him the most. Releasing his fists but fixing his father with an accusatory look that he returns with nonchalance, Oikawa needs to know if he ever had a shot at having a normal family.

“Did you ever love her?” he asks, sounding more tired than angry. “Mother.”

The older Oikawa takes a second to answer; he at least has the decency to know that he owes him that much.

“Of course I did,” he replies, neither pretence nor flair lacing his voice. Still, he sighs regrettably, owing the truth to his son, “But you know I could never stay in one place for too long.”

Oh, how he knows.

With a deep inhale, Oikawa stands up to take his leave. There’s not much left for him to say or do. It’s far too late for any of that now, and he isn’t deluded to hope that whatever he does will bring about any real change. You win some, you lose some.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” he says at the door, because this was somewhat a success even though it comes with a heavy heart. Before he departs though, fingers around the handle, Oikawa meets his father’s eyes with the same fortitude that has brought him this far and tells him, “You say we’re similar, but I think we are nothing alike.”

* * *

_Omake_

_“Smells good,” Iwaizumi remarks as he ambles down the stairs._

_The aroma of his mother’s cooking wafts to him, a welcomed greeting after a restful nap. Oikawa was not next to him when he awoke, but he didn’t expect to find his boyfriend busying in the kitchen with his mother. The sight puts a beatific smile on his face and accords a calmness in his heart after the events of this morning._

_Iwaizumi pulls out a chair at the table where the cutlery have already been set, and lets the two of them finish the last of their preparation._

_“Good evening Iwa-chan!” Oikawa comes bounding over to him with a wide grin, seemingly eager to tell him something. As he sets down the bowls of rice, he asks, “Did you have a good nap?”_

_“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers. “You didn’t take a nap with me.”_

_He sounds almost petulant that Oikawa has to bite back a laugh. “I was helping to make dinner, sleepyhead.”_

_“Without triggering the smoke alarm? I’m impressed.”_

_“I’ll let that slide today. Guess what we’re having!” Oikawa asks, obviously too excited to reveal the dish of the day to return Iwaizumi’s jab. But he doesn’t intend to let him answer for he immediately follows with, “Agedashi tofu!”_

_Just then, his mother settles a plate of agedashi tofu in front of them and tells Iwaizumi in amusement, “I told him it was your favourite.”_

_“Your mom taught me how to make it too,” Oikawa adds merrily as she returns to the kitchen to bring out the other dishes. “So next time I can cook it for you!”_

_“I’d like our kitchen intact, thanks,” Iwaizumi can’t resist teasing him._

_“I can at least manage that,” Oikawa retorts confidently._

_When the food’s all laid out and they take their seats, Oikawa points at the grilled mackerel and beams at Iwaizumi, “Iwa-chan, we went to the market while you were napping, and I got the auntie at the fish stall to give us the fatter, juicier fish! Are you proud of me?”_

_Purely on instinct, Iwaizumi glances at his mother for affirmation. She sports a sympathetic smile and shakes her head at him, the movement barely noticeable by Oikawa who’s beside her. Instantly, Iwaizumi knows he’s probably exaggerating or the auntie likely gave him the better fish because she thought he was good-looking, a rare sight at the wet market._

_Nonetheless, he returns Oikawa’s mirthful smile with one of his own, endearment tugging at his heartstrings._

_“Yeah, good job.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have heard of health insurance. Yes, I know there is a universal healthcare system in Japan. Yes, I know that healthcare costs in Japan are relatively affordable. Let’s just say that with the costs from the overnight stay and various tests + the fact that their savings are not much to begin with, it becomes a bit of an issue.
> 
> I like that Hinata and Oikawa helped each other out while they were at a low point in Brazil, but I could never see their relationship as anything but platonic so I could never ship OiHina. Besides, I have, after all, always been a mono-shipper. It’s always been IwaOi for me. My doctors say my tunnel vision for IwaOi is the worst they’ve ever come across.


	12. blood vs. water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act IV: sacrifice
> 
> You’d think with how much I write in Oikawa’s POV he would be my favourite character. But no, it’s Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi is my favourite character. I love that boy, I adore him.
> 
> But I guess why I write in Oikawa’s POV so much is because he’s such a flawed character, there’s much more to explore and uncover with him.

The doctors ascertain that there are no serious problems plaguing Iwaizumi’s father. He’s discharged fairly quickly and after a small battle about accepting Oikawa’s money to help with the bill, the expenses are all settled. Iwaizumi had vehemently refused to use the money, going as far as to berate Oikawa for selling his shares, even though Oikawa had insisted that it’s his rightful money that’s borrowed from no one.

It’s only when he said that this is a loan – not a gift – and that he could use the remaining amount to finance his school fees (when he transfers to the astronomy programme; he will go bald before relying on his parents’ money again), that Iwaizumi recognizes a battle lost. And when he had declared to Iwaizumi adamantly – _“you would have done the same thing for me”_ – that he concedes defeat.

Where the money comes from they keep it from Iwaizumi’s parents to avoid more complications. The Engineering student had to tell them a couple of half-truths to allay their concerns and put the matter to rest. He orders his father to take it easy at work and delegates the responsibility of keeping an eye on him to his mother.

On the other hand, Iwaizumi resolves to take on more shifts at the auto shop and considers searching for more odd jobs like the delivery one to make some extra cash on the side. He surmises that there’s time for that when he returns home from his shift today.

He returns his full attention to his task for now, which is sorting parts, a menial job that commands total concentration lest he messes up and someone finds a part in a box it does not belong. Halfway through the pile, his co-worker appears at the doorway, apparently in search for him.

“Iwaizumi,” Sawamura Daichi, a fellow university student and part-timer calls. The shadow of apprehension in his eyes, usually calm and mild-mannered, spells trouble for Iwaizumi. “Someone’s looking for you.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t say,” Sawamura shrugs. “She looks…fierce. She’s in the waiting room.”

Iwaizumi throws him a curious look. Fierce? To Sawamura?

“Alright thanks,” he says anyway, peeling off his gloves to make his way there. He tries to recall if he currently has a customer who fits that description but comes up short.

He doesn’t have to wonder any longer when he enters the waiting room and comes face-to-face with a beautiful woman – tall, slim, loose hazelnut curls falling past her shoulders. Iwaizumi is rooted to the spot when she rises from her seat to greet him with the coldest pair of dark brown eyes. Her long-sleeved white chiffon blouse shows off her slender shoulders and the button pencil skirt hugs her hips flatteringly. Blessed with a sharp face and a sharper gaze, she holds the attention of many and steals the words from their mouths without lifting a finger. By all accounts, she is as fearsome as Oikawa makes her out to be.

No introduction is needed to know who she is.

“Hi,” Iwaizumi manages, mind scrambling to find a possible reason behind her sudden appearance at his workplace. It can’t be anything good. “You were asking for me?”

“Yes,” she says simply, and even her voice is smooth and icy.

“Um, do you want something to drink?” he offers awkwardly, looking at anywhere but her, but it still feels like she’s boring holes into his head with her appraising stare.

“No, I won’t be here long,” Oikawa’s mother says curtly. “I’m sure we don’t need any introductions so I’ll get straight to the point.”

Iwaizumi swallows thickly. He doesn’t get to lament how this was sprung unto him without any warning before she speaks again.

“I’m aware that Tooru sold his shares in the company to help you. I’ve made it clear that I disapprove of his actions, and of his relationship with you,” she informs him evenly, and if she lets her displeasure show in her voice, it is entirely intentional. “But he has chosen to defy me time and again. I know I can’t get through to Tooru no matter what I say anymore, so I’m hoping you have more sense to see that this isn’t right for him.”

She ends her speech with a self-serving tone and Iwaizumi can’t decide if it’s what she says or how she says it that rubs him the wrong way. It’s clearly both. She looks him up at his workplace unannounced, addresses him like he doesn’t deserve her time of day, and goes on a ridiculous spiel about the way she thinks her son’s life should be. It speaks volumes about what little regard she holds for both Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and the part-time mechanic decides then that he isn’t obligated to take this lying down. Besides, it’s clear he cannot give her an answer she’ll be satisfied with.

She must be beyond desperate to come to him for this.

“Doesn’t he get to decide that for himself? What’s right or not,” Iwaizumi questions, recalling the many times Oikawa bemoaned his lack of agency and the need to heed his own voice that has been suppressed for longer than he can bear. “Why do you insist on doing it for him?”

He can tell he’s stepped on her toes when she darts her eyes to meet his, thin eyebrows drawing together with the slightest movement.

“Because he’s my son,” she states like it’s obvious that alone could justify her high-handed ways. “I know what’s best for him.”

Iwaizumi would beg to differ. He can so quickly think of a few things she likely isn’t privy to off the top of his head that he doesn’t bother to bite his tongue.

“Then do you know that he’s always wanted to pursue a different major? That he doesn’t even enjoy piano or golf? That he misses having home-cooked ginger pork?” he lists off, voice growing more heated with every word that spills from his mouth.

Oikawa Ishina narrows her eyes at the uniformed boy. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing. I—” Iwaizumi flounders, embarrassed that he let himself get carried away while she remains a picture of composure. He takes a breath before continuing, “Everything he’s done, he’s thought it through. He may be a frivolous guy but when it comes down to it, you can be sure that before he made his choice, he’s been thinking about it for days.”

“So you’re trying to tell me that Tooru going against me and getting himself caught in this mess is a conscious decision?” she asks with scepticism, crossing her arms.

It is, Iwaizumi thinks. But that’s not the point—it’s a side-effect of something larger, not from the mere wish to rebel against her. Iwaizumi, of all people, is well-acquainted with that understanding. All Oikawa wanted to do was follow a path he carved for himself, but circumstances determined that it has to come at a price.

“I’m trying to tell you that he’s done following blindly. He knows what’s right for him and he’s made his own choices,” Iwaizumi hopes she can recognize that she’s hanging on to something that was never meant to be bound in the first place. And if she insists on pursuing her version of ‘right’, it will either slip right through her fingers or break away from her grip – neither of which are pretty.

The headstrong woman shakes her head pitifully. “You are both too naïve to understand the weight of your actions.”

“We understand perfectly,” Iwaizumi asserts, losing hope.

Squaring her shoulders, Ishina makes sure that her next words will put the boy in his place.

“Then you know how much you’re taking from him? How much you will continue to deny him of?” she points out punitively, intent on making Iwaizumi see that there are consequences to such foolish persistence. “Tooru is made for greater things, and if you claim to know him so well, you would know this.”

She’s right – he’s under no illusion that Oikawa has the potential to go so far, but he refuses to believe that he’s a hurdle in his path to greatness. Oikawa is a star, no—he’s an entire constellation in his own right, full of pride and ambition, and Iwaizumi is a humble boy with modest aspirations, but it will take more than a humble boy with modest aspirations to make him stumble.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m holding him back,” Iwaizumi grits out.

“You’re not exactly making things easier for him either are you? Can you really bear to cause him so much trouble?”

Oikawa’s outburst over how he’s had a whole life of easy flashes through his mind and it sends a chill down his spine even now.

“He’s stronger than you think he is.”

“Perhaps that’s the case right now,” Ishina returns tersely, patience running thin. She’s beginning to think that she’s made a wasted trip coming here. “But don’t you think he might become tired once he realizes how much he’s giving up for…something as fleeting and frivolous as this? He might be okay with this now but give it time and he’ll grow out of this childish feeling.”

Youngsters and their grand notions of “love” – it’s all very laughable. Did they honestly think something as elusive and volatile as love could achieve much? She’s been there, and she can tell them it’s a waste of time at worst and a short-lived bliss at best.

Then again, these youngsters and their grand notions of “love” – are filled with fearless hope.

“I don’t know what will happen in the future, whether he’ll tell me he’s done tomorrow or next month or years from now, but I think I’ll believe in the here and now. And it looks pretty good,” Iwaizumi challenges.

Ishina’s impatience comes out in a quiet exhale as she uncrosses her arms.

“It will do everyone a favour if you stop this now,” she warns, articulating each word carefully. She holds Iwaizumi’s defiant gaze with a levelled one. “You are not right for him.”

“I’m sorry I fall short of your expectations but with all due respect, I’m not trying to meet your expectations,” Iwaizumi tells her, more apologetic over the way things turned out to be. “So whatever you’re asking me to do—give him up or let him go or whatever—I can’t do it.”

A glower settles on her otherwise elegant features.

“Because you love him? Do you really think you can make him happy?”

“Do you think _you_ can?”

She blinks in surprise, and that’s all the reaction she allows before she steels her expression into an inscrutable one.

“I guess I was wrong about you having the decency to stop your little game,” she says plainly, picking up her coat from the seat and striding past Iwaizumi, who remains frozen and stunned by his own boldness.

Before she disappears through the door, Iwaizumi gathers his wits and wheels around to say, in a last-ditch effort to help her understand that there doesn’t have to be winners or losers, “He’s not a mould. He might not fit your idea of success but he will succeed, in his own way. I’m sure of it. Why won’t you let him show you?”

His chest rises and falls with every quick breath as he watches her unmoving back expectantly. The silence seems to stretch and Iwaizumi knows his words have died in the canyon between them when she stalks away without so much as a second glance.

* * *

Oikawa hears the jangle of keys from the entranceway and immediately perks up from his laptop. Iwaizumi comes into view and he greets, “Welcome home!”

“I’m home,” he says without his usual gruffness and Oikawa’s Iwa-chan senses start to tingle. He gets up from his seat and watches his boyfriend intently as he pads into the kitchen, drops a shoulder for his bag to crumple onto the countertop and shuffles up to him.

Iwaizumi wordlessly slots himself against Oikawa, chest pressing into the plane of his back and arms coming around to settle loosely around his waist. He dips his head into the crook of his neck and just breathes.

“Long day?” Oikawa asks with a smile, amused over his unexpected cuddly mood. He twists his neck slightly to glimpse at Iwaizumi but gets an eyeful of dark hair instead.

The arms around his waist tighten and Iwaizumi nods soundlessly in response before lifting his face to rest his cheek against Oikawa’s neck.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, peering at his laptop screen. Oikawa had been nursing a cup of tea at the kitchen counter, scrolling through some random website, probably waiting for Iwaizumi to return from his part-time job.

His head lurches when Oikawa shrugs. “Just some simple recipes for dinner,” he answers and looks sheepish, although Iwaizumi can’t see his face. “I thought I should start pulling my weight around here.”

“Mm.”

Now his Iwa-chan senses are buzzing. He’s hardly so listless, even after an entire day of school and work. Oikawa absolutely adores cuddly Iwa-chan, but tonight seems a little off, like it’s not the mere stresses of academics and labour that wear him out. He can’t help the twinge of concern that laces his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed you.”

Oikawa chuckles lightly. “We saw each other this morning,” he points out in endearment, dropping his hands to Iwaizumi’s forearms and gliding them over tawny skin to settle over his fingers.

Iwaizumi relishes the comforting touch and squeezes him closer. They did see each other this morning, they got ready for school together, they rode the bike to their campus together. Oikawa’s hair sticks out in odd places when he wakes up but somehow still manages to look maddeningly attractive, he takes twice as long to get ready compared to Iwaizumi who begrudgingly (not really) makes a quick breakfast for the both of them, he tucks himself close when they weave through the December traffic. Iwaizumi wants to see him every morning if he’s allowed.

And now he’s sitting in their kitchen browsing through recipes so that he can contribute more in this house – even though he’s not that good at cooking – and Iwaizumi’s chest constricts with the domesticity of this all. God, he wants this so much.

_He loves him so much._

He brings himself to look at Oikawa, whose hazel eyes are round with curiosity, and holds his gaze with love and adoration. He will fight tooth and nail to give this boy the whole world.

But he will also give up the world for him.

He rises with a little more conviction, and Oikawa twists in his light embrace to face him better.

“Let’s go on a date,” he murmurs. “This weekend.”

“Okay,” Oikawa smiles, shoulder bumping against Iwaizumi’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to the amusement park,” he suggests, remembering a conversation about first date-worthy places that now seems so long ago. He made good on that promise by bringing him to the aquarium, but he supposes they should visit someplace special if it’s going to be the last date they’ll have.

“Sounds good,” Oikawa agrees.

His jaw tickles when Iwaizumi grazes callous fingers there, tilting his face towards him. They’re still standing in the small kitchen chest-to-back, and Iwaizumi cranes his neck to meet Oikawa’s lips halfway, sealing them in an unhurried kiss. He will never tire of kisses of this, slow and gentle like they’ve got all the time in the world to memorize the feel of each other’s lips, the languid strokes of their tongues, the barest whimpers in their voices.

The cup of tea sits on the countertop forgotten, as they pull each other into the room, shedding clothes to fall back into each other again.

They make love like it’s their first time – full of careful touches and longing gazes. They kiss sweetly, touch freely, sigh quietly. Iwaizumi pours out his heart into loving Oikawa, gives everything he has to make Oikawa know that he is so loved, and Oikawa wonders why his lover wears such a pained expression. He kisses the creases in his eyebrows away, and brings him back to a dance known only to them.

Iwaizumi sears this into his memory – not so much the view of Oikawa half laying on his side, one leg over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, body flushed and trembling, nor the broken way he sobs out his name, _“Hajime”_ , as he rocks into him – but the knowledge that Oikawa belonged to him and he to Oikawa in every way possible.

He will remember that for a few short months, he’s had Oikawa Tooru – beautiful, brilliant, brave Tooru – and that it was the best few months he’s had.

* * *

They visit Yomiuriland for their rather spontaneous date, a forty five-minute drive from their apartment. It’s both their first time at this amusement park, and Oikawa lets himself run loose. He scrambles to try out every attraction (a virtually impossible task), musters the courage to have a go on the extreme roller coasters even though he’s terrified, shrieks his head off in the haunted house, almost crashes at the go-kart track, kisses Iwaizumi on the Ferris wheel and marvels at the breath-taking winter illumination that greets them like dazzling jewels in every corner of the entire park.

Iwaizumi tries to match Oikawa’s enthusiasm, and he does, because Oikawa’s laughter is infectious and his smiles chase away the dark clouds in his mind. He forgets about the grim encounter yesterday and shoves the impending choice that Oikawa will have to make to the back of his head to simply enjoy his lover’s company on a date that’s practically plucked from the pages of a shoujo manga.

The sky has darkened in the short winter day by the time they’re beat from running around the entire day and taking pictures every chance Oikawa gets. They find themselves in the quieter area of the park, appreciating the colourful lights around them, strolling close enough that Oikawa can slip his hand furtively into Iwaizumi’s jacket pocket.

He wishes the day didn’t pass so quickly, and he wishes he can put off the conversation he needs to have with Oikawa for…well, for as long as he can. But it’s an inevitability in their story, a page he cannot simply gloss over, so he braces himself for it.

If it’s not for Oikawa abruptly slipping his hand out of his pocket and fixing him with a hard stare, Iwaizumi would have kept this for _a while_ later.

“Okay Iwa-chan, spill it,” he demands out of the blue, that Iwaizumi can only respond with an alarmed—

“What?”

Oikawa huffs petulantly. He’s been waiting all day to wheedle the truth out of Iwaizumi so he’s not about to stand for him acting dumb now.

“You’ve been off since last night! Being all moody and suggesting this date all of a sudden and being so nice the whole day,” Oikawa points out, honestly a bit offended that Iwaizumi would think he wouldn’t notice. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the attention but something’s wrong.”

Iwaizumi, not prepared to confront this now, answers evasively, “I can’t take my boyfriend out on a nice date sometimes?”

“You’re more than welcome to do that but stop playing coy,” Oikawa returns cleverly, eyes still lit with curiosity. “Now out with it.”

Sighing, Iwaizumi’s gaze flits around to notice that there are hardly anyone around, although that doesn’t make him feel any readier. “I’m that obvious huh,” he remarks, stalling for time.

“I can read you like a book,” Oikawa tells him as-a-matter-of-factly. When Iwaizumi hesitates and avoids meeting his eyes, a foreboding heaviness creeps up on him. Worry mixes with curiosity in russet irises as he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

“That’s not it,” Iwaizumi immediately clarifies and before Oikawa lets his paranoia get the better of him, swallows thickly to finally look him in the eye and say, “Your mom looked me up yesterday.”

If he managed to keep Oikawa’s paranoia in check, it was certainly short-lived. With those few words, his eyes grow wide as horror floods his face.

“What did she say?” he blurts out, panicked. Of all the things he feared, he should have known it would be the most formidable one of all.

The sharp change in his mood is unmistakable, and Iwaizumi surprises himself with the calmness surrounding his next words. It wouldn’t do any good to have the both of them flustered. “She said a lot of things, but basically she wants me to leave you.”

“ _What?_ ” Oikawa hisses, flaring up at the audacity of his mother. Hearing that, and realizing that she must have said all kinds of nasty things to him in that condescending tone of hers—and that Iwa-chan was shouldering it all—robs him of his usual eloquence.

“I can’t believe she—how could she—I…what did you say?” he stammers, quickly losing steam and allowing dread to wrap its tendrils around him. Suddenly, this date has taken on a completely different meaning, like a last farewell or a way to end this on a positive note, and before Oikawa’s imagination runs too wild, Iwaizumi answers simply—

“I told her I couldn’t do it. Obviously she wasn’t very pleased. She seems to be under the impression that she knows what’s best for you.”

His answer shatters the ugly pictures forming in Oikawa’s mind and he leaves berating himself for his momentary lapse in judgement for a later time. In this moment, even as the lights are shining brilliantly around him, he’s seething with anger.

“And somehow that includes telling the person I love to leave me?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Genius move. She tried something like that before and look where that got us.”

“Tooru…” Iwaizumi grimaces. It’s reminiscent of the incident with his sister that ended with everyone hurt. Now faced with a similar problem, Iwaizumi knows he can’t run away from the consequences, of which he wants to give Oikawa a choice to decide. He wants Oikawa to make a choice knowing exactly how the odds are stacked against them, even if it means history will repeat itself.

“I’ve tolerated her warped plans of grandiose for me but this time she’s crossed a line,” Oikawa snaps, too hinged on the fact that she pulled such a dirty trick to notice that Iwaizumi’s trying to bring across a point.

“I don’t think that’s going to stop her,” he tells him solemnly, hoping it’s clear that this is just one small part of what’s to come if nothing changes.

“Well it should,” Oikawa bristles, aggravated that she disregards the concept of limits when it should be a common human decency. “Why can’t she understand that I’m _happy_ and _be happy_ for me? If only—”

But there was no room for if-onlys and what-ifs.

“Listen, Tooru,” Iwaizumi interrupts, grasping Oikawa by the elbows. “As long as we’re together, she will always give you a hard time and she will always look down on me and when push comes to shove, I don’t know what she’ll do. I don’t want you hurt.”

That’s not all there is to it. He doesn’t want to be hurt either but that’s only if he’s selfish enough to make Oikawa give up a few things.

“So you want me to leave you?” Oikawa asks as it dawns on him that Iwaizumi is presenting to him a trade-off, one where the loss will be great no matter what he chooses. To Oikawa however, it would be a gross mistake to even compare one to the other.

“No—”

“So you want me to leave my mother?”

“No!”

“Then what do you want?”

Iwaizumi finds the words all caught up in his throat. He releases Oikawa and takes a tentative step back to gather his thoughts. This is so messy; he’s never expected himself to be embroiled into something so complicated. And it’s entirely Oikawa’s fault—he _just had to_ be there in the streets of Azabu that night, he _had to_ haul his drunk ass to his bike and put him up for the night, he _had to_ partner up with him for that assignment, he _had to_ invite him for a movie and ramen and a visit to the festival, he _had to_ fall in love with him—all 184cm, 72kg worth of pure brilliance, a cunning idiot who he realized had turned the choice to him.

Iwaizumi wants nothing but the best for Oikawa Tooru. He wants him to be unchained from his burdens, he wants him to be free to reach his fullest potential, wants him to smile like he means it, wants him to be happy.

But he wants him to have all this _with him_ , he thinks, discarding all prior notions of altruism. At the heart of it all, he wants to be selfish.

Forest green eyes seek out hazel ones as he says, clearly and carefully, “I want you to know that it’s not going to be easy sticking with me, that you’ve given up so much and you’ll have to give up even more if you continue to stick with me.”

His heart has kicked up a racing beat in his chest but he soldiers on, “I want you to know all of this…and tell me you still want to be with me.”

Well, that just makes things much simpler. Oikawa is eternally glad that Iwa-chan is such an honest person. He closes the distance between them, holding his gaze with infinite tenderness, intent on calming Iwaizumi’s restless heart.

“I don’t love easy Hajime. And yet I fell for you, you who didn’t even know who I was and treated me like I was my own person,” he says quietly into the space between them. “Don’t you think that counts for something? Don’t you think I already know all this?”

This open-mouthed wonderment is an adorable look on Iwa-chan. Oikawa slides cold fingers over Iwaizumi’s jaw and runs his thumb across his cheek. It sends a shiver down Iwaizumi’s back.

“I may not have been thinking very hard when I told you I liked you that day, but I have my eyes wide open this whole time,” he says surely, because this is one thing he absolutely has no doubts about. They’ve been looking at this from such a superficial lens, and Oikawa would like to think they’re more than that. He wishes Iwaizumi would understand that too. “You keep thinking we’re so different, like status and background and how much money we have are the only things we have to compare ourselves to. Well I don’t care about that. And I say we’re not so different at all are we?”

Rarely does Iwaizumi falter under such intense eyes. Rarely does he feel his heartbeat stutter over such heartfelt words.

“We’re made of the same things – sharp tongues and foolish persistence – and we feel the same way,” Oikawa continues, gliding his hand down to settle over Iwaizumi’s heart. “Unless you’re telling me it’s wrong?”

He shakes his head vehemently.

“It’s not—”

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

It’s not Oikawa’s mother (he’ll take her on as many times as it takes), not of Oikawa leaving (he understands that his feelings for him are rooted to his core), but the sheer idea that they would no longer have each other.

“Losing you,” he admits fearfully. It seems like her words had affected him more than he let on.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Oikawa reassures, reaching up again to tilt Iwaizumi’s face up by the curve of his jaw, determination blazing in his eyes. “I’m going to make things right.”

Iwaizumi is heartened by the sentiment but frowns anyway. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I have to,” Oikawa says back fiercely, but it softens into an indescribable longing when he catches the traces of unease that lurks in the shadows under his eyes. Voice dipping into a whisper, he adds, “I don’t want you hurt too you know.”

Oikawa steps closer until there is no space left to separate them, lowering his head to rest his forehead against Iwaizumi’s. If there are people in the vicinity sending them odd looks, he doesn’t care.

“I’ve made my choice Hajime,” he murmurs, and it’s a choice he made a long time ago if he thinks about it. “What’s yours?”

Oikawa’s fingers sends a fuzzy tingle across his skin. He feels like they exist in the eye of a storm, a short respite before things truly go downhill. But whatever comes, gales of wind or wreckages from uprooted houses or falling debris, he lets himself believe that maybe, _just maybe_ , foolish persistence and fearless hope—the only things they came rushing out into the open with—will see them through.

“It’s always you.”

* * *

Their talk weighs heavy on Oikawa’s mind. While it culminated in them affirming their trust in each other, Oikawa knows that it will continue to beleaguer them unless he acts definitively. He had been dead serious when he told Iwaizumi that he didn’t want him hurt, so he resolves to put his foot down, no matter how terrifying the idea may be.

It becomes reality a few days later, when he stops avoiding dinners with his mother. It starts off as a quiet affair at a table unnecessarily long for its usual two occupants (one if you consider recent events), and the silence is almost suffocating. The roasted lamb rack is exquisitely prepared by Mie-san but Oikawa doesn’t have the appetite to savour it. He musters up all the will he is, and goes for broke.

“Mother, I heard you looked Hajime up,” he begins, relieved that his voice doesn’t crack or waver. Still, he doesn’t dare to meet her eyes, which he knows has darkened just by the way the air has shifted.

“What of it?” she asks in that aloof manner she reserves for particularly troublesome situations.

Oikawa cuts a piece of his lamb to keep his hands busy. Forging ahead, he says firmly, “You have to stop meddling.”

It’s the wrong thing to say when her sharp voice cuts through the stale air. “Meddling?” she repeats accusatorily. “You would call securing your future meddling?”

Dinner is forgotten once Oikawa puts down his knife and fork. Quietly, he tells her, “You and I have very different ideas about my future.”

“I’m looking out for you,” she insists, and that’s precisely the thing that Oikawa is tired of hearing, they’re exactly the words that have stifled him until they have him gasping.

“You’ve been looking out for me my whole life,” he points out, an euphemism for his frustration, and finally meets her gaze, although it borders on the edge of a glower. All this struggling should wear him out, but instead it grants him an unexplainable strength. “It’s time I look out for myself. And I will continue to be with Hajime.”

Oikawa Ishina sighs. “How many times do I have to—”

“Mother,” he cuts off curtly. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

He shocks her with his boldness. Hell, he shocks even himself. There was a time he could never imagine being so defiant. Is this what love does to you? He shudders at the thought of what it could reduce you to.

“You’ve changed,” she says faintly. It is scarily similar to someone they haven’t spoken to in years. Ishina thought she could count on her son to guarantee their family’s success since her daughter had been a let-down, but that appears to be slipping away as well.

“Maybe,” Oikawa agrees and prays that his mother can come to terms with the inevitable. “Perhaps it’s time you did too.”

But a leopard never changes its spots.

“Do you know what I have done to get to where we are today?” she says dangerously. Does not a single soul understand her efforts? Everything about her, from her piercing amber eyes to her squared shoulders, scream stubbornness. “I have given too much to let everything go to waste.”

Oikawa is truly his mother’s son when his obstinacy rivals hers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to,” he states, standing his ground. “But I’m happy pursuing my own dreams. I’m happy with him.”

“Do you want to end up like your sister?” his mother rebukes and something in Oikawa _snaps_.

“You mean how she’s living a happy life with her _commoner_ husband and son, doing what she loves and having a loving family to go back to every night?” he spits out, angered that she would drag his sister into this when it had been her who drove her into a corner, the same way she’s doing to him now.

The outburst unwraps his little secret but Oikawa can’t be bothered to regret it even as he watches the astonishment unfurl on his mother’s face.

“You’ve been in contact with her?” she questions, narrowing her eyes at Oikawa.

“No, because you forbade me to remember?” he bites back, stark insolence lacing his voice. Despite his denial, she can tell his heated words are based on truth.

Ishina pins her son with a cautionary glare. They buried this matter a long time ago. To think that he had dug it up and thrown it right back at her, bringing to light a reality she had thought was unlikely, makes the floor beneath her feet unsteady.

“Your sister made a mistake,” she asserts, still hanging on to a shred of delusion by sheer mulishness.

“Did she?” Oikawa challenges, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem that way.”

Her so-called mistake led her to a better life but Oikawa used to believe that his sister leaving had harmed everyone, her included, even though it had been the right choice to make – the _only_ choice to make – when she was met with the backs of her family. He had built this belief on misplaced resentment for so long that now as his mother continues to feed the notion that she was at fault, Oikawa’s frustration threatens to boil over.

“She turned her back on us,” she stresses.

“No, we did,” Oikawa argues, straining with exasperation. “We abandoned her.”

When the truth about her expecting a child was revealed, she faced judgement. When she pleaded for acceptance – something Oikawa Seina hardly ever did – she was met with indifference. And when she left, no one followed. Even if he had not blatantly rejected her, his inaction did not vindicate him.

“She left the family,” his mother says evenly, and Oikawa cannot fathom how she manages to shield herself from guilt, how she can still sound so collected when he’s consumed with indignation that he can barely feel his nails digging into his palms.

“Because we weren’t there for her when she needed us!” he bursts out, standing so abruptly it sends the chair screeching backwards. “And for what reason? Because we cared more about saving face instead of our own family members? About how we have to be with people like us?”

He shakes his head in disbelief, scoffing, “Have you _seen_ how some of us are like? What’s wrong with being with people you call commoners? I have enjoyed myself being with them in a day more than I have with people like us in my life.”

He breathes harshly, years of suppressed anger and forced resignation pouring out in scathing words uttered at a time too late. His mother rises to her feet and Oikawa’s fury seems so small and juvenile in the face of her staunch obduracy, stirring darkly under the surface of an unsympathetic expression.

“You don’t understand what it takes. Tooru, I’m telling you for the last time,” she warns, fixing him with a stare that leaves him with the worst kind of abandonment. “That boy is not for you.”

Oikawa wonders if there was anything he could have done at all, anything he could have said, to avoid this outcome. But there was no room for if-onlys and what-ifs.

He shakes his head slowly in defeat this time, a futile plea that exists in hazel eyes now bleeds into his shaky voice.

For once more, Oikawa chooses the hard road.

“I can’t…”

His mother releases a disappointed sigh, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other.”

It’s a few tense seconds after she leaves that Oikawa lets out a breath he was holding, inexplicable sadness flooding into his heart.

* * *

Oikawa doesn’t give himself time to wallow. He hurries up to his room, taking two steps at once, throws a few things into his knapsack, and allows one last forlorn look to the room that used to be his secret base. When he steps past the gates, he doesn’t look back.

But sitting by himself on a public bench at the nearest park makes it hard for him to escape the gravity of his actions. He understands the seriousness of this, the far-reaching implications it has created, but Oikawa feels a surprising lack of fear. Sorrow yes, but mostly just acceptance that he’s tried and for now, it’s enough.

The sputter of an engine jolts him out of his thoughts and Oikawa looks up to see Iwaizumi leaving his helmet on the seat of the bike, jogging up to him with worry written across his features.

“I came here as fast as I could,” he says hastily. “What happened?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out in a rush of relief. He meets him halfway, throws his arms around Iwaizumi’s middle and hugs him tightly. His steady back, his familiar scent, the way he fits into his embrace, so tangible and reassuring, is exactly the comfort he’s missing.

Iwaizumi, still as confused and a little concerned since Oikawa only asked him to pick him up without explaining much over the phone, circles his arms around him and rubs his back soothingly.

When they part, he asks again, “Tell me what happened?”

He braces himself as Oikawa takes a deep breath.

“I walked out,” the brown-eyed boy states simply, a unique mix of incredulity and determination in his gaze. As if speaking those words cast his actions in stone and granted him a newfound confidence, Oikawa’s words spill out of his mouth easily, “I confronted my mother about her interfering with our lives and we got into a huge argument and she wouldn’t budge no matter what I say so I…I told her I couldn’t it.”

It’s an echo of what Iwaizumi said before – so true and dangerous – and his green eyes widen when he realizes what Oikawa has done.

“Tooru, no…”

Oikawa cuts him off before he makes all the wrong assumptions, gripping him by sleeves of his jacket. “I couldn’t stay there anymore. Not when she doesn’t try to understand,” he explains. “You were right when you said that she’ll always give us a hard time, and I don’t want to always be afraid of what she’ll do. So I left.”

As long as he was under her charge, her overbearing presence will always be felt. But if he leaves, he knows her pride would not let her chase him, like it had stopped her from pursuing his sister years ago.

Iwaizumi has since stopped doubting Oikawa’s actions and for this, he knows with every fibre of his being that this is Oikawa willingly and deliberately following through on his words.

“I can’t believe you fucking... _left home_ ,” he says breathlessly, holding him close. He’s positive nobody can ever compare to Oikawa Tooru.

“It’s not really a home,” he mutters but pushes aside the gloomy thought to remind Iwaizumi, “And I told you, didn’t I? That I’d do whatever I had to.”

Something akin to guilt settles in the furrow of his eyebrows.

“This isn’t what I had in mind…”

“Me too,” Oikawa confesses and cradles Iwaizumi’s hands in his palms. “But it’s the only thing I could do. I want to live freely, love freely. Even if it means I have to give up a few things.”

“Are you sure?” Iwaizumi whispers. It turns out that there are winners and losers after all.

“I know this changes a lot of things, but I’m sure,” Oikawa answers. “And I remember you telling me…that I just need to keep moving forward.”

Warmth blooms in Iwaizumi’s heart as he understands that even if they might not be physically next to each other, their words would always give them the courage to keep going.

“Yeah, I’m always here,” he assures, entwining their fingers. The park near the road is nowhere to be showing how tender your touches can be, how much love you can pour into a kiss, how much you can bare your soul to another. So where else could they go but home?

Softly, Iwaizumi says, “Let’s go home.”

Under the orange glow of the streetlights, he wonders how they’d look like to the people out on their night jog or to the drivers on their way home from working late. If they thought they look like two boys in love, well—they’re not wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have to make Iwaizumi and Sawamura co-workers in all my fics? Yes, yes I do. Idk, they just seem like they’d get along, in a professional way, yanno.
> 
> Btw, have you guys been to Yomiuriland? I went once during winter, where they had the illumination decorations and it is absolutely amazing, very romantic. It’s like a 1.5 hour train ride from central Tokyo so if you’re holidaying in Tokyo, that’s an idea.
> 
> And I realized I have to increase the chapter count :)


	13. endings vs. beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The problem with living somewhere with only one season is that I constantly have to be mindful of what season the story takes place in AND what kind of clothes they’d be wearing.
> 
> Just tying up some loose ends.

Home becomes a 3LDK in the west side of Tokyo, shared among an irritatingly attractive astronomy nerd, a brusque but undeniably kind gem of a person, a witty mood-maker on a quest to taste every cream puff in the city’s cafés, and an easy-going mystery who hides memes and sharp intuition alike underneath a bored expression.

In the aftermath of his leaving home, Oikawa fits himself comfortably in Iwazumi’s shared apartment like he was already part of it in the first place. It was a quiet affair. Hanamaki and Matsukawa welcomed him easily, for once without any quip, and Oikawa went a little misty-eyed when they took his moving in like it was a natural progression of the seasons.

He had returned to his previous residence once (when he learned that his mother was away) to grab more stuff, mainly essentials, schoolwork and the few possessions that still held sentimental value. When Mie-san asked him in a teary voice if he was truly leaving, it twisted his gut to say yes, but he also promised her that he’d find work for her in a different place, somewhere warmer and kinder.

Slowly, the apartment borrows bits and pieces of Oikawa. There’s an extra pair of shoes in the entranceway, the kitchen smells of fresh milk bread sometimes, and his bright blue toothbrush stands resolutely next to Iwaizumi’s. But mostly, his presence is strongest in Iwaizumi’s room, where his clothes hang from the coat rack and other belongings litter the study desk.

It’s not long until he’s roped into helping out around the house. He supposes it’s about time after all. His housemates probably thought they’ve given him enough time to settle. It does surprise him though, that it turns out to be a rather serious matter when they’re all gathered around the coffee table in the living room, steaming bowls of katsu curry rice before them, courtesy of chef-of-the-week Matsukawa.

“How this works is that we have a chore chart,” Hanamaki begins, pointing at said roster in the middle of their circle of curry rice bowls. It’s actually a table with chores as columns and weeks as rows drawn on a mini whiteboard. Oikawa peers at it curiously. “Every week, we each handle a different set of chores. This week for example, Matsu’s in charge of meals. Dinner to be exact, since we all have different schedules in the day.”

True enough, the first kanji of Matsukawa’s name is written in the cell, and everyone’s kanji is printed across the table in a similar fashion. Oikawa notices that Iwa-chan’s name is tagged to “cleaning” this week, which apparently includes sweeping, mopping and vacuuming as they are written in finer print.

“We made sure there’s a fair trade-off with the chores we have to do,” Iwaizumi supplies helpfully from his side. “Like if you’re in charge of meals, you have to take care of the groceries on top of cooking. That’s more troublesome, so whoever’s doing that won’t get other chores for the week.”

“The other way applies,” Matsukawa chimes in. “Laundry’s pretty chill, so whoever’s got that will have to take out the trash too.”

Oikawa nods slowly, chewing a piece of pork katsu thoughtfully. They’re quite meticulous about this for a bunch of undergrads living by themselves.

“We’ll let you start off easy, so you’ll get cleaning,” Hanamaki says, picking up a marker and uncapping it. “Sorry Iwaizumi, you’ll have to take bathrooms this week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves it off as Hanamaki erases his name from the board.

While he gives himself a hard time by trying to rework the chart around an armful of bowl, Matsukawa says to Iwaizumi with a lazy smirk, “You’re in charge of showing Oikawa where everything is, how to do what, and covering for him if he messes up.”

“You better not mess up then,” Iwaizumi tells Oikawa coolly.

“But Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says in a voice that borders on a whine. “You can’t expect me to get the hang of it so soon.”

“I’m not. Just do them properly,” Iwaizumi returns, wiping a bit of curry from the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, tilting his head backwards with the motion. “And no slacking.”

Oikawa purses his lips and obediently goes back to his dinner. Across from them, their housemates share a deadpan look which goes unnoticed by the resident couple.

Hanamaki rests his elbows on the coffee table and takes a breath before breaking the short silence, “We also have some house rules.”

Matsukawa nods encouragingly and Iwaizumi suddenly has a bad feeling about this.

“Number one: if you take something, put it back to where it was after you’re done,” the Engineering student announces and Oikawa finds that reasonable enough.

“Number two,” Matsukawa continues seamlessly. “Dirty dishes shouldn’t be kept in the sink for more than two days. If you see them, just do everyone a favour and wash them.”

“Number three: if you lose at Mario Kart three times in a row, you treat everyone to ramen. That’s the way it is, I don’t make the rules,” Hanamaki rambles on and Oikawa narrows his eyes at him. He’s literally one of the three people who makes the rules here. “And we’re creating a new rule just for the two of you.”

Iwaizumi instantly groans.

The smirk on Hanamaki’s face is too self-satisfying. “If we hear you having loud sex, that’s a thousand yen into the ‘RIP MatsuHana’s Innocence’ jar.”

He pulls out a mason jar seemingly out of nowhere and scribbles the name he thought of a few seconds ago onto the remnant of a badly peeled-off sticker.

“We are not adding that house rule,” Iwaizumi warns, eyeing the jar warily.

“Why not?” Matsukawa dares. “We could get a new Wii game with the money.”

“There will be no money!” he says, enunciating each word hotly.

“How confident!” Hanamaki quips.

“Guys,” Oikawa pipes up, relatively quiet the entire time. All eyes turn to him but he focuses his attention on the pair in front of him, appearing like he has something important to say. But then he cocks his head to the side and has the cheek to say in mock shyness, “You know these things are uncontrollable sometimes…”

Nobody cares about the pinched look that Iwaizumi makes, and he decides to ignore the three of them who seem to derive too much entertainment from discussing his sex life.

Hanamaki leans forward to match Oikawa’s smugness with a devious expression. “We know Iwaizumi is a _passionate_ lover,” he drawls. “But these walls aren’t soundproof.”

“Maybe you should get those high-grade noise-cancelling earpieces with the jar money instead,” Oikawa counters.

“Enough!” Iwaizumi shouts, and it’s either the blush that colours his cheeks an amusing shade of red or the lone grain of rice that’s stuck to his chin or perhaps both that reduces his beloved housemates into a laughing mess.

How he ended up becoming the receiving end of his friends’ laughter is something Iwaizumi simply resigns himself to. He guesses this is his life in the foreseeable future. At least they move away from talking about his carnal activities, which had been immensely embarrassing when the person involved in said activities was participating in the conversation.

They’ve almost polished off their curry rice when the topic turns to adding Oikawa to their Line group chat. Until recently, they didn’t really need Oikawa’s number, having Iwaizumi be the mouthpiece for the most part. Now that he’s living with them, it’s only natural to assimilate him into their antics over texts and emojis as well.

“Oh, let me add you to the group chat with the other Hosei kids in the block too,” Hanamaki says and taps at his phone.

Within the next minute, Oikawa’s phone buzzes with a slew of messages from unknown numbers, all of them welcoming him to the block in the form of genial greetings to unintelligible keysmashes. Someone suggests hanging out at Yamamoto’s again. One person congratulates Iwaizumi.

He makes sure to save these numbers into his phone later. As he types out a reply, his lips stretch into a smile. A few months ago, he had been whiling his time with people he could hardly call friends, getting drunk off cheap companionship and fooling himself into thinking he’s living the enviable high life. Fast forward to now, where he’s enjoying homemade katsu curry rice with a pair he never imagined forming a friendship with and someone he didn’t know would mean so much to him, while responding to a barrage of messages inducting him into his new home, Oikawa marvels at how much change a few months can bring.

“Someone’s pleased,” Matsukawa remarks, arching a brow at him.

Oikawa pulls his bottom lip between his teeth but it doesn’t hide his smile. “I guess I feel really lucky,” he admits quietly. “That I got to meet everyone.”

He shifts distractedly and tries to keep his voice light, but the simple pleasure from this moment, and the understanding that this is just one of many more to come, makes him laugh in wobbly way, “It’s funny how one drunk night can bring people together huh. Thanks…you know, for letting me be here.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hanamaki interjects, putting up his hands at Oikawa. He pins him with a pointed look, but it lacks any real bite. “Honestly, we love having you around and it’s not just because you’re fun to mess with, but don’t get sappy on us now. We want to end this on a high note. A high note!”

“Are we breaking out the drinks now?” Matsukawa suggests with a lilt.

“We don’t have any,” Iwaizumi points out blandly and Oikawa laughs, the mood returning to its laidback tone. Unbeknownst to their friends, Iwaizumi furtively finds Oikawa’s hand under the coffee table and links them in a wordless gesture.

“Dammit, do you think Yaku’s side has some?” Hanamaki wonders.

“You can try asking,” Iwaizumi proposes.

Hanamaki smirks at Oikawa. “That’s the newbie’s job.”

“Bullying me already?” he taunts and turns to Iwaizumi to offer him a saccharine grin. “Iwa-chan will go on my behalf, right Iwa-chan?”

“You wish,” he retorts, deliberately facing Oikawa so that he can pinch his nose, and it becomes clear that they’ve been holding hands under the table. Oikawa wrinkles his nose adorably.

Their housemates watch them with interest and it’s Matsukawa who contemplates out loud, “Do you think we should have a PDA jar also?”

It earns him a glare from Iwaizumi and before he can try to shut down the idea, Hanamaki says in all seriousness, “Nah, they’ll go broke.”

It’s way too soon to assume he won’t make a joke out of this, because the next thing Hanamaki does is tip his head sideways at the two of them, narrow eyes glinting with wicked delight.

“But the sex though.”

“I’m done,” Iwaizumi declares, standing up to clear his bowl and hopefully spare himself from the antics but he can’t escape the laughter that ensues when the kitchen is literally within earshot.

* * *

When everyone retires to their rooms that night, slightly buzzed from the cans of Kirin beer that Yamamoto so kindly donated, Iwaizumi lounges on his bed while waiting for Oikawa to finish his nightly routine in the bathroom, phone in his hands and already in a cotton t-shirt and loose pants.

Oikawa enters the room quietly a few minutes later, checks his own phone for any pertinent notifications and leaves it on the desk. He crawls into bed but decides against going to sleep yet, craving for the feel of being enveloped in Iwaizumi’s presence.

The Engineering student notices him approaching, so he puts his phone away and lets his arms fall open to accommodate Oikawa who straddles his hips like it’s the only place he can think to be. He’s a comfortable weight on top of Iwaizumi, knees opened and palms resting on his shoulders, the hem of his pyjama pants hiked up over his ankles.

“Iwa-chan,” he calls for no reason at all. It comes out like a sigh, and the next one is uttered with more earnestness. “ _Iwa-chan._ ”

“Yes?” Iwaizumi humours, familiar with his boyfriend’s tendency to slip into a sentimental mood at night when it’s just the two of them, especially after they had officially (in a way) granted him permanent residential status by way of his inclusion into the chore chart.

Oikawa lets out a tiny laugh, dizzy from counting the blessings before him.

“I like you,” he confesses with a cheeky smile and Iwaizumi laughs through his nose.

“I know,” he says back simply.

He circles his arms around Oikawa’s hips more closely, and Oikawa doesn’t need another invitation to dip his head and kiss him. It’s slow and soft, Oikawa wanting to just savour the feel of Iwaizumi’s lips against his. He shuffles on his knees into his space, sliding hands over hard shoulders to wrap him in a loose embrace. There’s no tongue or any wetness, but somehow it feels more intimate with how their lips fit against each other’s.

Oikawa draws back, allowing a measly few inches between them, before pressing warm lips to the side of Iwaizumi’s mouth, on the tip of his nose, on the blush that dusts his cheeks, on his eyelids that flutter close. Iwaizumi blinks out of a daze when Oikawa leans away to regard him with tender affection.

“I meant what I said just now. That I feel really lucky,” he tells him quietly. “But I think I’m luckiest to have met you.”

To be frank, Iwaizumi secretly loves it when Oikawa bares himself like that, doubtless and genuine. But he can’t have his heart pierced by metaphorical arrows every time Oikawa says something remotely romantic. He wouldn’t last.

“If you’re going to be so cheesy all the time, it’s going to make me very awkward,” Iwaizumi teases instead.

Oikawa juts out his lip because he was putting his heart out there and he doesn’t want Iwaizumi to think that it was merely for show. He shakes him by the shoulder once, insisting, “I’m serious.”

“I know baby.”

Completely unexpected, since Iwaizumi rarely uses terms of endearment and in such a fond way no less, it elicits a sound of surprise from Oikawa, whose hair falls over his eyes when he lowers his head with a fierce blush. Iwaizumi smirks in amusement at how Oikawa can get so flustered so quickly.

He’s suddenly squeezed into a tight hug that Iwaizumi takes a second to return. Their bodies curve into each other’s perfectly and this is the warmth that can battle the winter chill, that can melt the worries clouding their hearts.

From over his shoulder, Iwaizumi hears Oikawa mutter, “Hey Iwa-chan.”

“Hm?” he hums, dragging his palm up and down his back soothingly.

Oikawa’s body rises and falls with the breath he takes. “I think…I want to get in touch with my sister.”

Immediately, Iwaizumi’s hand stills and he wriggles out of Oikawa’s hug gently to hold him by the forearms.

“Tooru, that’s great,” he believes, eyes harbouring enough enthusiasm for the both of them. On the contrary, uncertainty swims in Oikawa’s. He’s wanted to do it for the longest time and now that his life is changing in ways he couldn’t have imagined, he thought to leverage the momentum to pursue one more. But he’s afraid it’ll give him the closure he needs, but not the fresh start he hopes for.

“I’m scared though,” Oikawa admits, glancing at Iwaizumi hesitantly. The mere thought of reaching out to someone after years of zero contact starts up a nervous coil in his gut. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if I show up, and she chases me away or worse, pretends she doesn’t know me?”

“Stop,” Iwaizumi cuts in before he rambles on nonsensically. He takes Oikawa’s hands in his and runs his thumbs over knuckles, a habit grown out of a desire to offer some of his sureness which, in this moment, he has in heaps. “I think she’ll be happy to see you. Shocked speechless probably, but you’re her brother.”

He says ‘brother’ like it’s the only reason he needs to know that it will turn out fine, good in fact. And that’s all Oikawa needs really, a hand on his back to push him in the right direction.

“Yeah…I’ll do it,” he nods and meets his eyes searchingly. “Will you go with me? To Kanagawa?”

It doesn’t have to be said, because it’s so obvious, but Iwaizumi says anyway, “Of course.”

* * *

Kanagawa is a two-and-a-half hour train ride away and Oikawa is a bundle of nerves throughout the entire journey. Over the course of using his spare account to stalk his sister’s Insta-stories every now and then (her shop’s account, since her personal one was private), he had found out that she closes her workshop in the mid-afternoon every other Saturday, which ties in perfectly with this week.

The idea of contacting her through social media was considered but eventually discarded because it was too impersonal in his opinion. To suddenly do that over an Insta-message after their relationship had frayed so miserably…Oikawa thinks he could manage a little more sincerity than that. Granted, he might be setting himself up for disappointment, but at least that’s one matter done and dusted.

Iwa-chan had been an absolute treasure about the whole thing, but Oikawa could sense his mild annoyance that likely started with him fussing over what to wear and grew as Oikawa rattled on about increasingly ridiculous scenarios. He shut him up by twisting an earpiece into his ear, sharing his playlist to distract him from his irrational thoughts.

They went through their plan, which involved Oikawa being by himself for a large part of it, since they felt it was better if only he showed up. Iwaizumi doesn’t reckon he could do much if he was there anyway. It’ll definitely be awkward. And if everything turns out well—which it will—he wanted to give them the privacy to catch up. He promised Oikawa that he’d be nearby though, maybe killing time at a café or walking around town, and he’ll come as soon as he calls.

Oikawa’s tempted to call him now just to have his scolding voice as company, as he paces along the tiled street where his sister’s workshop sits. It’s his sister, who he had been so close with throughout his childhood so it’s not like he doesn’t know how to talk to her. But he supposes the reason he’s so jittery is that he desperately wants this to work, wishing with all his heart that they could go back to the way they were before.

They used to sneak around in that mansion of a house, his sister stealing snacks for him during his piano classes and him badgering her to watch sci-fi shows together. They talked to each other like the age gap between them was hardly a rift, Seina not sparing her brother from her sharp tongue and he doing the same to her.

He wonders if she will still see a brother in him and remember what a pesky, cheeky and impertinent gremlin he is, the way all siblings are. He wonders if she will still mess up his hair and pinch his cheek the way she tended to when they argued over the most trivial things. And gosh, will she still recognize him? He didn’t change much, appearance-wise, in their time apart did he? Would _he_ recognize her?

The answer is easy enough when the chime of a bell makes him whip around and the tall, slender figure of a short-haired brunette locking up her store scatters all his musings. Oikawa had rehearsed what to say countless of times in his head for this moment, but as he takes in the appearance of his sister, so very familiar, his mind goes completely blank.

Her hair is much shorter now, the brown locks parted down her side to create a slimming curtain of wavy hair that ends above her shoulders, side-swept bangs showing off the more photogenic side of her face (or so she claims). As a young mother, she’s dressed à la mode in a light brown coat, grey ribbed turtleneck, dark pants and a pair of slightly heeled boots. Her ears and neck are adorned with tasteful jewellery, most likely handmade by her. Oikawa can only watch dumbly as she drops the keys into her handbag, ready to return to her family after another day of hard work.

She barely takes another step before she comes face-to-face with Tooru, and the shock written across their faces are mirror images of each other.

“Hi,” Tooru breathes out after what seems like a long moment of tense silence, his mind scrambling to find the words he had been repeating only a while ago. He tries not to let her look of alarm, still quite hard for him to make sense of, worry him into a panic. Yet, the words fumble over one another when they leave his mouth, “Uhh…I’m—I mean, this must be…really unexpected for you. But I…um…I—”

This is such a disaster he laments, and he’s ready to flee the moment she as much as show one negative micro expression.

But all she does is call out his name in a whisper and the next thing Tooru know is that he’s being engulfed in a tight hug.

“Tooru. It’s really you,” she says breathlessly and releases him to take a good look at his face. She has to glance up at him but Oikawa Seina is by no means short.

Even if this is the situation that came to pass – out of the dozens he had pictured – he must say that he couldn’t have imagined the relief that wells up in his chest when he’s met with eyes full of fondness and a smile that reminds him of home.

“Yeah. It’s me,” he says softly.

* * *

Seina takes him to a nearby café that she frequents, a bustling place located in one of the main streets. By the time he has a slice of New York cheesecake and a cup of coffee in front of him, and she a red velvet one paired with chai tea latte, he’s already told her how he found her on Instagram and got the pleasantries out of the way.

Falling into a natural conversation with his sister was effortless, and they’re not a couple of bites into their dessert when their exchange predictably shifts to a heavier focus. Seina takes advantage of a lull in their chat to broach the topic, teacup clinking gently onto the saucer. She looks at her brother carefully, intent to shed some light over his unexpected appearance today.

“Why did you look me up?” she asks, not accusatorily, but curiously. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here. But…why now?”

For years, they’ve lived separate lives. What had changed in the recent past that he would get in touch with her now? She hopes it’s nothing dire.

Across from her, Tooru drops his gaze to his slice of cheesecake, a tiny smile playing on the corners of his lips. It feels strange, to confess all this to someone he hasn’t met in a long time but with whom this should have been as easy as talking about the weather.

“I met someone,” he starts, meeting her with a sheepish expression. “And my life kinda turned upside down after that. He’s really nice, and honest, not just with everyone but with himself too, and I feel like I owe a lot of things to him, even though he’ll probably say that I don’t.”

Tooru releases a light laugh at the thought of Iwaizumi throwing him a stern look and threatening him with violence if he talks shit like that again.

“But I made a lot of new friends, tried a lot of new things, got a job, am changing majors, left home,” he breezes on. “So I wanted to change this part of my life too.”

It’s a lot of information to process and the one that comes to the fore (besides the fact that this someone could introduce such an unexplainable touch of softness to his being) is something that rings a bell.

Blinking in surprise, Seina blurts, “Wait, did you just say you left home?”

Tooru nods ruefully. “He’s not…who mother thinks is like us,” he grimaces. Saying this out loud brings back awful memories for both the Oikawa siblings. “And she is as stubborn as you remember her to be.”

“Oh dear,” she exhales, sitting back in her seat and needing another long sip of her tea latte. You’d think all this time and maybe a couple of regrets would make someone change their ways, but even that seemed too far-fetched for their mother.

“Yeah…I had to make a choice,” Tooru adds, warming his hands around his coffee cup. “And you know, when all this time you’ve felt so stifled and now that you’re finally able to breathe, it’s not a difficult choice to make.”

“That sounds familiar,” Seina comments wryly. Out of all the things she wishes her brother could follow in her footsteps, why did it have to be the one that involves walking out on their family?

“I’m not saying our experiences are the same but…I do understand why you did what you did,” Tooru explains. “I mean, you had a kid with a person you love and who loved you back. How could you give that up?”

He’s always wanted to say this to his sister, to let her know that he _understood_ , and finally letting it out is like having a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Seina regards him with a heart-warming smile. Her brother carries himself with surprising maturity and she feels almost wistful that she missed seeing him grow into this beautiful person.

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

Taking the opportunity to change the topic, Tooru asks eagerly, “So how’s your kid now?”

“Oh he’s perfect,” Seina immediately gushes and digs around her bag for her phone. “His name is Takeru and he’s almost four. He’s at that age where he’s starting to run about, throw stuff around and climb places that always give me a heart attack. Kind of like you last time.”

Tooru squawks in protest and is met with his sister’s teasing laughter. She shows him her gallery full of pictures of Takeru and they coo over how cute he is, with that almost hairless head of his, and how much of an adorable menace he’s turning out to be. Honestly, there are times when Takeru reminds her of Tooru. They’re both a handful, and she’d know, being one’s mother and the other’s older sister-slash-baby sitter when their parents were away, which was a whole lot.

It’s ridiculous how fast those days have rolled by and the once snobbish, wilful boy has remained there, and in his place is a young man full of hope and promise. Even if she didn’t get to see him grow, Seina is thankful to be able to meet the person he’s become today.

“I’m glad you found me,” she says quietly, as if voice alone could shatter the fragile bliss of this moment. When Tooru looks up from her phone in surprise, a trace of child-like curiosity still in his russet eyes, she feels it tug on her heartstrings. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you before. I guess I was too caught up with trying to take care of myself and my family that I…”

She trails off, unable to bring herself to put into words what she had done, or the lack thereof. While it had been tough to be a young mother without the support of her parents, she knew that Tooru had it rough too. And as someone who he trusted, leaving without a trace and with no word for years must have dealt him a blow.

“As an older sister, that’s really shameful of me huh,” she finishes guiltily.

He takes in her regretful appearance and decides that it doesn’t suit her. He’s grateful for this encounter, and that’s enough for him.

“It’s okay. It’s not like I didn’t blame you to be honest,” Tooru admits, sinking his fork into his cake but not bringing it to his mouth. “I thought I resented you for leaving at first but I suppose I was just lonely.”

“I’m sorry.”

At that, Tooru straightens his back and rolls his shoulders, offering his sister a genuine smile. “No point hanging on to the past. We’re here now and we’ve got so much to catch up on.”

Saying that feels like closing a door to a room full of unpleasant memories and opening another that leads to better days.

“We sure do,” his sister grins. They have years’ worth of things to share with each other but at this moment, Seina is truly curious about one particular matter. Eyeing Tooru with catlike interest, she asks, “But before that, tell me more about this _someone_ you met. What’s he like, to have captured the heart of my high maintenance brother?”

“Oh,” Tooru lets out a small sound of surprise, not expecting her to ask about this yet. But now that she has, he can’t help the excitement that compels him into a rant, seemingly neglecting every other thought he had. “His name is Iwaizumi Hajime. I call him ‘Iwa-chan’ for short and he…”

* * *

Kanagawa is a pretty cool place, Iwaizumi thinks. It’s lively but with a lesser hectic vibe that Tokyo is famous for. He kills time by strolling through the streets, window-shopping and enjoying some street food, and manages to fit a bit of sightseeing in the two hours that Oikawa has been away.

He considers that a good thing, especially when he doesn’t receive any calls of distress or worrisome messages, since it means Oikawa must be too preoccupied catching up with his sister. When he does receive a call from Oikawa though, he sounds sprightly over the phone, breathless even, and they agree to meet each other at Komayama Park.

Iwaizumi’s already there, overlooking Sagami Bay, when suddenly he hears his name being called.

“Iwa-chan!”

He’s accorded only a few seconds before Oikawa comes barrelling to him at full speed, almost knocking him over with the force of his embrace.

“Hey, how’d it go?” he asks anyway, steadying the both of them and wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s frame loosely.

There’s a ton of updates he has for Iwaizumi but Oikawa can only think to exclaim, brown eyes twinkling with sheer delight, “ _Nee-san_ invited us to her place for Christmas!”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows in question, “Us?”

Oikawa nods vigorously. “Yeah, we talked a lot and of course I talked about you and obviously she’d want to meet you!” he prattles, lips curled into an elated smile the entire time. Slotting his arms inside Iwaizumi’s and lacing his fingers behind his back, Oikawa smirks smugly, “She’s dying to know who managed to capture the great Oikawa-sama’s heart.”

“Someone who needs better taste in men obviously,” Iwaizumi quips, but Oikawa is too high on cloud nine to come up with a retort. “But I’m not sure what to expect, since it’s _the_ great Oikawa-sama’s older sister.”

Chuckling, he assures, “ _Nee-san’s_ really chill, you’ll definitely get along with her and her family too I bet.”

They had parted ways at the café with Seina inviting Oikawa and his Iwa-chan for Christmas and the brown-eyed boy had been thrilled about the idea. He could finally meet his _nephew_ and tell his brother-in-law that he passed on his message dutifully that day. Although he’s looking forward to it immensely, it still stirs up a bout of jitters when he thinks about making (and keeping) a good impression on everyone, wonders whether Takeru will take a liking to him (even though he’s just a toddler), and eventually introduces his boyfriend.

“Are you nervous?” Oikawa asks in a small voice, peering at Iwaizumi’s thoughtful expression. “‘Cause I’m nervous too.”

It’s evident that it’s a nervous delight and Iwaizumi can’t—won’t say no to that.

“We’ll go,” he agrees, pulling away to lock eyes with Oikawa, puffing with self-satisfaction. “See? Told you it’ll be fine.”

Oikawa purses his lips to hold back a conceding smile.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, his faith unshakeable in Iwaizumi. It’s already dark out and a wave of affection hits him with the realization that Iwaizumi had been waiting patiently for him to be done. He asks with a tilt of his head, “Did you wait long?”

“Nah, I was checking out the streets,” Iwaizumi answers and suggests, as it’s almost dinner time, “Since we’re already in Kanagawa, want to grab dinner here? I saw this yakiniku place nearby on Google maps. We could check it out.”

“Okay!” Oikawa chirps, releasing Iwaizumi so that they can walk hand-in-hand instead. “I can’t wait to tell you everything!”

He pours out his exhilaration over a hearty meal of yakiniku, fit for a celebratory dinner. He talks so much that Iwaizumi has a larger share of the meat and handles practically all the grilling while ensuring that Oikawa doesn’t forget to eat. It’s a little pricier than usual, but Iwaizumi supposes it’s fine for a special occasion.

They hold hands on the way to the station, fall asleep on the train, step into a quiet house back in Tokyo. Oikawa doesn’t let Iwaizumi forget how grateful he feels towards him when he climbs into bed that night, kneeling on the mattress and holding out his arms to draw Iwaizumi in. The darker-haired boy hikes a knee up onto the bed, lining himself against Oikawa and kissing him sweetly.

In hushed voices and quiet breaths, they make love in slowness and eagerness in equal measure – pushing and pulling, giving and taking – until they’re panting over sweat-slicked skin, fingers laced and hearts thrumming to the beat of each other’s.

* * *

Really, Iwaizumi should have asked to meet at the train station or something, especially if he was going to make Oikawa wait. The December cold is not to be underestimated. Shrugging his winter jacket more tightly around himself, Oikawa types out a text to Iwa-chan before pocketing his phone.

The food street near campus is lively on a weekday night, salarymen and university students alike occupying the smoky and narrow izakaya bars dotting the street. They’ve made plans to visit one of the okonomiyaki places here, at the recommendation of Hanamaki who announced that he wouldn’t be able to cook today and ordered his housemates to settle their own meals.

All these pictures on the stalls’ outdoor menus and wafts of freshly cooked street food are making him famished. Oikawa’s about to drop Iwaizumi a string of texts until he catches sight of a bunch of students clambering out of a stall in front, recognizing a bunch of familiar faces. It’s his so-called friends, the ones who left him drunk off his ass in front of an angry resident’s house before speeding away, boisterous laughter and roaring engine trailing behind them. How nostalgic.

They’re not alone, the four of them huddled around two girls, flanking them and leading them down the street, towards Oikawa’s direction. A frown inadvertently settles on Oikawa’s features. While this is a common occurrence with them – inviting girls to their hang-outs then suggesting to visit some bar or club for which most of the time the equally thrill-seeking girls are more than happy to oblige – this time they clearly look less than keen. The two girls stand close to each other, with uneasy smiles and awkward glances.

Oikawa remembers feeling the same way, except he had been much more adept at pretending.

He doesn’t really think twice before he’s ambling towards them, not entirely certain what will come out of this, but guided by the urge to help someone in a way he couldn’t help himself before.

“Hey,” he says, standing before them.

“Ohhh, Oikawa!” the usual instigator of most of their shenanigans, a blond one, exclaims, revealing his snaggletooth. The other three look just as surprised to see him, and the girls stare up at him in wonder. He throws Oikawa an impish grin. “Long time no see. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Likewise,” Oikawa responds mildly, gaze flitting to the trapped girls. “What are you guys doing? Harassing some poor girls?”

The blonde lets out a short laugh and his friend with the piercing retorts dismissively, “What, no. We’re just playing around.”

Oikawa nods in mock indifference, bringing their attention to the truth with bluntness, “They don’t look like they’re having fun though.”

“Really?” blondie drawls, bring his face close to one of the girls, who flinch away. He’s either too daft to notice or too brazen to care, and it irks Oikawa to know it’s the latter. With a suggestive lilt, he tells Oikawa, “Maybe if you join us, we can pick things up.”

Ignoring that with a straight face, Oikawa turns to the girls instead. “You know, you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to,” he tells them nonchalantly.

“Oi, what the—” he hears someone protest, but talks right over that as well.

“It’s fine if you say you’re not interested or have something on and just leave.”

“We’re right here,” another one says.

“And it’s better to do it while you still can. Otherwise, they might get you drunk and leave you on the roadside,” Oikawa continues, giving the speechless girls a one-shoulder shrug. “Okay, maybe they won’t leave you on the roadside but I’m just speaking from experience. Or worse, let you end up at the police station. Again, speaking from experience.”

They peer at him in wordless amazement and a twinge of trepidation before one of them speaks up hesitantly, not sure if she can trust Oikawa’s words but not wanting to take the risk, “Umm…I think we have to go…”

“Alright, bye!” Oikawa trills as they extricate themselves from the group. The subtle smile of gratitude they offer him before hurrying away is quite satisfying, and gives him the extra kick to face whatever’s coming next.

Predictably, snaggletooth shoots him a sarcastic look after watching his fun for tonight slip away, and sneers, “That was so long ago Oikawa. Still bearing a grudge?”

Oikawa pretends to ponder. How could he find fault with the one incident that brought Iwaizumi Hajime into his life? If getting deserted in a barely conscious state in the streets of Azabu is the only way for this to happen, he’d do it over and over again.

“Nope,” he says breezily and taps his finger on his chin, nodding thoughtfully as he adds, “It was a dick move but all things considered, I guess I should thank you for leaving me outside some stranger’s house that day.”

It earns him a scowl and a derisive remark, “I don’t know what you’re on about but you sure you can still talk big when you no longer have daddy’s money?”

Oikawa scoffs before he processes the fact that apparently this is what people are saying about him now, “If you think I only have daddy’s money then you’re more ignorant than I thought.”

The one with the piercing actually smirks, but snaggletooth rolls his eyes in an attempt to mask the surprise that Oikawa’s straightforwardness gave him, “Whatever. You’re not relevant anymore Oikawa.”

“Maybe not to you. But that’s okay.”

In the short few seconds that he stuns them, the sound of his name interrupts their tense exchange.

“Tooru.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa turns to greet his partner in a chiding tone, ignoring their looks of confusion and wariness. “You’re late.”

“Class ran late,” Iwaizumi answers simply, gaze flickering over to the other Hosei students calmly but it achieves the opposite effect on them. He can guess as much what’s going on, but something tells him Oikawa’s got it under control. Still, he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeap!” he says, blithe tone immediately dropping to a low voice as he offers them a honeyed smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and adds with an air of finality, “Just catching up with some old friends. Let’s go.”

* * *

After their okonomiyaki and just before heading home, Oikawa and Iwaizumi stop by the convenience store to make sure they don’t starve for breakfast tomorrow and stock up on snacks. He remembers Matsukawa asking him to grab some Jagabee.

With a basket in hand, sandwiches for breakfast already chosen, Iwaizumi scans through the dessert section and contemplates on buying pudding or something of the sort for a late-night snack. Ultimately, he decides against giving in to the urge, and prepares to check out the drinks until Oikawa tugs on his jacket at his side.

“Iwa-chan, remember this?” he asks, pointing to something in the ice cream freezer.

When he peers over, he realizes that Oikawa’s pointing at the colourful variety of GariGarikun popsicles. The cheery-looking mascot on the wrappers remind him of a sudden confession and an ensuing kiss, the sweetest he’s ever had. How could he forget?

But in lieu of an answer, Iwaizumi comments casually, “You’ve been very sentimental lately.”

Oikawa shrugs, his good mood visible in the way a smile hangs off his lips. He follows Iwaizumi to the back of the store, popsicles forgotten but not the memory they come with. Sometimes, he still thinks it’s a dream that he met Iwa-chan under such bizarre circumstances, and that he can’t believe he had been reckless enough to admit his feelings over convenience store-bought popsicles and the kind of ripple effect it created – like now, when Family Mart’s GariGarikun actually triggers a fond expression from him.

As he watches Iwaizumi search through the shelf of cans and bottles, not fancying one himself, he wonders out loud, “It’s funny how we ended up here don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi shoots him an odd look. “I just wanted to get breakfast for tomorrow.”

“Not _here_ here!” Oikawa squawks in embarrassment. He was being sentimental but Iwa-chan’s lack of sensitivity totally killed that. Regardless, he soldiers on to clarify sheepishly, “But together.”

The Engineering student favours teasing Oikawa a little more, so he deliberately replies with the brusqueness his boyfriend always complains about, “Uhh, I had to haul your drunk ass to my place?”

“Could you be any less romantic?” Oikawa sulks.

“It really wasn’t very romantic that day,” Iwaizumi tells him truthfully, picking out two cans of iced coffee. “I was afraid you’d puke on me or my bed the whole time.”

“Fine,” Oikawa purses his lips, admitting that day was not his most dignified one. Notwithstanding, he stands by his earlier belief that if that was the only way he’d get to meet Iwaizumi, then he would accept snaggletooth and his friends’ invitation to hang out, he would drink till he saw stars, and he would climb into that Lexus, speeding along the streets of Tokyo.

The one thing that wasn’t up to him though, was what happened after.

“Still, I’m glad you didn’t let the guy call the cops on me,” Oikawa says, something warm and true in his hazel eyes.

Iwaizumi allows himself to return the sentiment in equal intensity.

“Me too.”

It’s not like his life didn’t change with the unexpected arrival of one breath-taking boy too.

“Um, are you ready to pay?” the cashier asks, awkward about intruding what seemed to be a private moment.

* * *

_Omake_

_It’s a slow weekday afternoon at the café, with only a handful of customers in the store, the usual students absent after mid-term quizzes are over and done with. Oikawa’s on shift with Koganegawa, Hinata and Shirofuku, and in charge of the counter today. He’s pretty bored and wishes some of the regulars will visit, but instead, he catches sight of a certain high school senior out of the corner of his eye._

_Kageyama Tobio strides across the pedestrian crossing, in plain sight through the café’s glass windows. Perking up, Oikawa wonders if he’s here to visit the store or just passing by, and if it’s the former, why. He’s quite certain Kageyama doesn’t visit cafés very often and there are a dozen other places like this around. So if he enters, it’s probably for some other motive that Oikawa is suddenly curious about._

_“Oh hey, it’s that guy again,” Koganegawa remarks offhandedly as he looks out the window on the way back to the kitchen from waiting tables._

_“Again?” Oikawa parrots._

_“Yeah,” the tall blonde says. “He’s popped by a few times and asked for Hinata but he always misses him. When I tell him Hinata’s not on shift, he just leaves.”_

_“Is that so…” Oikawa trails off, interest piqued. The monotonous day just got a lot more interesting._

_The bell chimes when Kageyama pushes through the door, startled to see Oikawa at the counter this time. It doesn’t alarm him enough to leave; he wouldn’t have come back here if he didn’t know Oikawa works here anyway._

_“Oikawa-san,” he greets amiably._

_“Hello Tobio-chan,” he sing-songs, intent on using his new-found information for his entertainment. “Didn’t know you like our café that much to come back. What can I get for you?”_

_“Um…is the orange-haired guy around? The one you were with last time?” Kageyama asks tentatively and Oikawa is positively thrilled. He’s fairly sure he knows what’s going on and damn if he doesn’t torment the high-schooler about it._

_“Oh you mean_ Shouyou-kun _?” Oikawa grins satisfactorily at the fleeting moment of surprise on Kageyama’s face. He’s so easy to read. “He’s around.”_

_His eyebrows raise at the revelation. Finally._

_“Can you—”_

_“Oikawa-san,” a long-awaited voice calls out from behind the kitchen door, turning two heads towards him. “Do you know where—ahhh! It’s you again!”_

_His damn voice and exaggerated reaction still grate on Kageyama’s nerves, but only because it bewilders him why he’s drawn to him for some inexplicable reason._

_“Shut up, I’m not here to argue with you,” he retorts._

_“Oh…then what are you here for?” Hinata instantly settles, daring to approach him at the counter. He doesn’t consider the fact that Kageyama could be here for coffee, since this_ is _a café._

_All this while, Oikawa watches their exchange in amusement._

_“I wanted to uh—return this,” he mutters, unzipping his bag and holding out a pineapple-patterned flask._

_Hinata’s eyes light up with the re-emergence of the item, taking it from Kageyama’s hands. He doesn’t realize it’s empty. “My flask! I thought you were never going to return it.”_

_“Why would I keep such a childish-looking thing with me?” Kageyama says with a frown._

_“It’s my sister’s!” Hinata exclaims defensively, starting a staring contest with a scowl of his own._

_Beside them, Oikawa throws the dark-haired boy a knowing look, tone deceptively flippant when he asks, “Why’d you take so long to return it Tobio-chan? Feeling shy?”_

_It achieves the desired effect when he immediately averts his gaze to reply unsurely, “I was…busy.”_

_“Sure,” Oikawa lilts, having a field day with this. If Iwaizumi were here, he’d definitely scold him for tormenting the kid._

_“The drink,” Kageyama starts, remembering that he isn’t here only to return the flask. Whatever was in that bottle, it was the perfect combination of milk and caffeine, and he had been curious enough to taste it, and too intrigued not to want to find out more about the boy who shoved it in his hands as a form of apology and rescue. Kageyama fumbles over his words as he tries to say, “It was nuf—nice.”_

_His cheeks burn at the blunder and Oikawa’s snicker doesn’t help matters, but Hinata doesn’t seem to mind._

_“You like it?” he asks happily and boasts, “It’s one of my best creations!”_

_“So you made it?” Kageyama wonders, an eyebrow arched and trying not to sound like he’s impressed._

_“Mm hm!”_

_“It’s on the menu,” Oikawa supplies helpfully and points up at the chalkboard menu above their heads. Kageyama assumes he’s referring to the drawing of a drink labelled “this month’s special!”_

_“Would you like to order?” Hinata asks him, those cursed amber eyes full of anticipation that he cannot refuse._

_“Yeah.”_

_“Great! I’ll prepare it!” he beams._

_“And maybe don’t spill it on him this time hm, Shouyou-kun?” Oikawa teases just before he retreats to the kitchen._

_“I won’t!” Hinata blushes and hurries away._

_Kageyama watches the door swing to a close, a little bit swept away by a strange boy who strikes him as both unbelievably annoying and oddly interesting. Snapping to his senses after a bout of contemplative silence, he flushes under Oikawa’s discerning gaze, whose lip is curled into a gratifying smile ever so slightly and looking like he has the upper hand. He doesn’t however, comment on Kageyama’s little secret._

_“That would be five hundred and fifty yen.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I just wanted an excuse to write KageHina?
> 
> The next update is the last one! I'll be posting both chapter 14 and 15 together because chapter 15 is more like an epilogue to close off the story. Thank you everyone for reading till this far and dropping kudos and comments. It really makes me happy to see people enjoying this :)


	14. tooru & hajime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Oikawa :)

When the new year rolls around (after much fanfare that includes a mini Christmas party with Oikawa’s sister’s family where he reunites with a dearly missed dish of ginger pork in garlic sauce, a major Christmas party with the Hosei block mates and a New Year’s trip to Miyagi), Oikawa and Iwaizumi settle into a less eventful January.

The former is making toast for breakfast this morning, still a little groggy from sleep. Iwaizumi is still in his room, probably doing the wake-up workout that he listed as one of his New Year’s resolution. Oikawa gives it one week tops before he completely quits that godforsaken routine, especially when he’ll be smothering him in morning cuddles in varying degrees of nakedness.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are somewhere in the house, Oikawa didn’t really hear them come out of their rooms but he knows all of them are in today. He’s on meal duty this week and supposed to whip something up for everyone tonight. He has yet to decide what to make.

While waiting for the toaster to turn his sliced bread into a nice golden brown, Oikawa busies himself with checking his school email. There’s a couple of campus newsletters, one from his professor informing the students of a change in venue for their upcoming lecture, some message from the Dean that he glosses over and oh—

An email from the admissions office of the School of Astronomy.

He taps on the email without thinking twice, the thought of breakfast thrown out of his mind, and his heart skips a beat at the sentence that greets him.

> _To: Oikawa Tooru  
>  _ _We are pleased to inform you that your transfer to the Hosei University School of Astronomy is successful. You have been admitted for the academic year beginning…_

It feels like the entire house jumps when Oikawa shrieks.

Immediately, the door to his room flings open and Iwaizumi stumbles out, his face a mixture of horror and confusion.

“What’s wrong?!”

Hanamaki seemingly races out from the bathroom, a wet toothbrush in his hand (and not in his mouth luckily).

“I heard shouting! Did someone trigger the alarm? Is this it?!”

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Matsukawa joins them, yawning.

“Tooru, did something happen?” Iwaizumi demands worriedly, already holding Oikawa by the elbows and searching for any indication that he’s hurt—a scald or a cut or…he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for.

The boy at the centre of it all simply stares at them in wide-eyed shock, mouth hanging open unglamorously. He holds up his phone wordlessly to present the email to them but the text is too small for them to decipher.

As they crowd around him to peer at what’s gotten him into this uncharacteristic state, Oikawa spares them the trouble and finally finds the words to say breathlessly, “I got in. The astronomy programme. I got in.”

“What! That’s—fucking awesome!”

“Holy shit, let me see!”

“Congratulations.”

They all talk over each other, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa read the email for themselves while Iwaizumi clasps his hands along Oikawa’s jaw, grinning and shaking him slightly out of his daze.

“Tooru,” he breathes out. “I’m so happy for you.”

The sight of Iwa-chan beaming from ear to ear makes Oikawa break out into a smile as well. The understanding that this is real—that he’s truly done it and he’s finally where he wants to be—sinks in and stirs up an indescribable warmness that blooms across his chest. He reaches up to cover Iwaizumi’s hands with his own, dizzy with happiness that he could almost cry.

“This calls for a celebration!” Hanamaki declares and Matsukawa suggests, “How about hot pot?”

“Oh my god yes! Hot pot it is,” Oikawa agrees readily. “I’ll get the ingredients for tonight!”

“Awesome, you deserve this Oikawa,” Hanamaki tells him genuinely, looking like a proud parent himself. The soon-to-be Astronomy major chuckles when Matsukawa ruffles his hair playfully.

When they return to whatever they were doing before and leave Oikawa and Iwaizumi in the kitchen, the taller boy exhales sharply, staring back at his partner in giddy delight. Iwaizumi too, can’t contain his pride and joy.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, fiercely fond.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

“You’ll start in the new semester?” he asks, already feeling excited about the new year and all the experiences it will bring.

Oikawa nods enthusiastically. “They won’t let me transfer in the middle of a semester so I’ll have to start with the upcoming batch of freshmen in April. Can you believe it? I’m going to be a freshman again with all the kids.”

“You’re a year apart,” Iwaizumi laughs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“And,” Oikawa ignores, a teasing edge to his voice as he tangles his fingers with Iwaizumi’s. “I’ll be dating a sophomore. All the freshmen will be so jealous.”

“No they won’t,” Iwaizumi retorts, tugging on Oikawa’s hands. If anything, he thinks it’ll be his brown-eyed idiot who would have freshmen eager to be acquainted with a maddeningly intelligent and charming senior flocking to him.

What Iwaizumi doesn’t know though, is how he has the unique ability to make people feel comfortable around him with just his presence and how people are drawn to his easy smiles and guileless nature. Everyone falls for Iwaizumi some way or another. Also, he is hot. Oikawa doesn’t bring these up.

“Anyway,” he continues with mirth. “This means I don’t need to go for my classes anymore. I think I’ll take on more shifts at the café.”

Ah, it’s a good thought. Iwaizumi’s relieved he’s thinking about this instead of fretting over having to repeat a year. Before he can reply, breakfast demands their attention with a _ding_ and Oikawa hurries to pull out two slices of overly-toasted bread by the tips of his fingers.

“It’s still edible,” Oikawa says in relief, rubbing the crumbs off his fingers and facing Iwaizumi again.

“I have to work later,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Will you be okay buying the ingredients?”

“Of course Iwa-chan, you think I can’t do my own grocery-shopping?”

“Remember that time you didn’t check the expiry date for all the dairy items?” Iwaizumi points out.

“A rookie mistake which won’t happen again,” Oikawa answers flippantly, choosing not to dwell on his less dignified moments.

“Then I’m looking forward to the hot pot tonight,” the Engineering student smiles, pulling Oikawa in by the waist to plant a kiss to the side of his mouth, startling him. “You’re amazing you know?”

The praise colours his cheeks a faint pink, mostly because Iwaizumi hands out his compliments in careful doses and this one feels more intimate than most. Oikawa tries to bite back a smile, but fails.

“Hmm,” he hums, pretending to be thoughtful. “I know, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

Usually, this is where Iwaizumi returns with a sarcastic remark or cuffs him at the back of his head, but today he’s too overjoyed to care. In fact, he’s in such high spirits that he responds with another kiss to his cheek and another one to his nose, crowding Oikawa against the counter.

The peppering of kisses reduces him into a laughing fit, twisting his neck where it tickles but holding Iwaizumi close anyway. It’s only when Hanamaki returns to the kitchen to properly start the day that Iwaizumi keeps his mouth to himself.

“Ey ey ey!” their housemates interrupts, pointing an accusing finger at them. “PDA jar!”

“Go away Makki,” Oikawa shoos playfully, clinging on to his boyfriend’s shirt to keep him in place. Iwaizumi, while perfectly content with staying in Oikawa’s loose embrace, kisses him one last time (he knows they don’t actually have a PDA jar) for good measure before getting ready for work.

* * *

Grocery-shopping is a breeze. Oikawa haggles like a pro at the supermarket, or as far as his version of haggling goes, which involves striking up a conversation with the auntie at the meats section and showering her with radiant smiles and flattering remarks. The beef he purchases is packed with extra weight at no additional cost, a fact he does not neglect to boast about to his flatmates later that night.

Oikawa’s never tasted a tastier hot pot. He’s not sure if it’s the brand of broth he buys, or the exhilaration from receiving today’s news or the company. He settles on a combination of all. The celebratory dinner gets posted on his Instastory (along with his acceptance into the astronomy programme) and his phone is flooded with notifications, some of which he doesn’t care to reply.

He tops off the day with sex with Iwa-chan, this time rough and messy but at least it doesn’t get them to contribute to the RIP MatsuHana’s Innocence jar.

Oikawa makes good on his word to work more shifts at the café, starting a new week with a full-day shift. On his way down their apartment, he runs into a neighbour in the lift, who greets him with a raised eyebrow and unruly bedhead.

“’Morning,” Kuroo says casually.

“Good morning,” Oikawa greets amiably, stepping into the lift.

They’ve met a few times after he moved here, but always in the company of their block mates. This is the first time they’re left alone. Oikawa presumes he’s heading to school, which means he’ll be taking the train so they’ll have to walk to the station together at least. It’s not awkward by any means, since they can both carry a conversation effortlessly, if only one of them starts the ball rolling and not make it about the weather or something equally contrived.

“So,” it’s Kuroo who starts. “I heard you got accepted into the School of Astronomy. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You don’t sound surprised,” Oikawa answers. Most people do when they find out.

“I vaguely remember you being oddly fired up about wanting to build a planetarium for the cultural festival in high school,” Kuroo recollects, inciting a short laugh from Oikawa. Indeed, something like that did happen, although his idea was superseded by the clichéd host/hostess café because most of the girls wanted to see people like Oikawa and Kuroo donning the host uniform.

“The café idea in the end was pretty lame huh,” he chuckles at the recollection, walking in step with Kuroo as they make their way out of the building.

“For sure,” Kuroo agrees, not a fan of the stiff attire and giggling girls. But the smile of amusement that Kenma gave him when he saw how his childhood friend was dressed was worth it, even if it was at his expense. “ _You_ seemed to enjoy it though.”

“I seem to enjoy a lot of things, and not all of them are true,” Oikawa discloses nonchalantly, pulling up his zip a little higher to keep out the cold as they step onto the streets.

Kuroo feigns offence at that, throwing Oikawa a scandalized look, “So you’ve been faking it all this time? Pretending to like us so you’ll get free booze?”

Even during high school, he had a tendency to return Oikawa’s quips with his own wisecracks and Oikawa couldn’t have guessed that it’s something he cannot escape from. The back-and-forth is familiar to him, so he replies airily, “I thought you’re more perceptive than this Kuroo.”

“I am, but we can’t all be Iwaizumi,” Kuroo points out, shrugging.

“You’re right about that,” Oikawa smiles. “Where’s Kozume anyway?”

Kuroo tells him about Kenma and the cursed Design Theory and Research class he has on a Monday morning, so he’s already at school. They talk about Kenma and Iwaizumi and snippets of their high school life that would have turned out so differently if they had been friends. But Oikawa jokes that he wouldn’t want to witness Kuroo’s desperate pining up close; it was bad enough from a distance.

The walk to the station feels shorter than it is, and before they part ways to take separate lines, Oikawa ponders a while before deciding to ask, “You know, you never said how you got together with Kozume.”

Not really stumped that Oikawa would be curious, Kuroo doesn’t mind telling him how it panned out but figures he could get something out of this as well. Smirking, he answers, “How about we trade stories when you tell me how you _really_ got together with Iwaizumi?”

He’s heard it the first time, but it doesn’t escape Kuroo’s intuition that there was something more to that than meets the eye. And he’s a curious cat, who can blame him?

Oikawa recovers from his initial surprise to grin back at Kuroo.

“Deal.”

* * *

With the frequent full-day shifts at the café, Oikawa creates a routine of having lunch at work. Sometimes, Shirofuku will whip up a meal for them, other times one of them will go out to order lunch for everyone. And on lucky days, Iwaizumi joins him, bringing his own lunch to eat with Oikawa in a quiet corner of the shop during his break. He visits regularly enough that Sugawara and Asahi practically let him do what he wants (and also because he’s Oikawa’s reliable boyfriend and knows each of the staff at this point).

On a peaceful afternoon in mid-January, Iwaizumi has found himself a comfy spot at the far end of the café, takeaway oyako don in front of him and teriyaki salmon don for Oikawa. A cold drink prepared by Sugawara himself accompanies his meal, even though the young boss would have allowed Iwaizumi to stay in the café without ordering anything. He has his laptop opened, idly scrolling through a page with listings of second-hand motorbikes as they dig into their food.

His Honda is barely hanging in there, breaking down and requiring repair far too many times than is normal, and Iwaizumi imagines it’ll last him till the end of the semester at best. He won’t kid himself that he has the money to buy a new bike now, but it doesn’t hurt to check out what’s on the market. Oikawa browses through the listing with him, commenting, _“ohh this one’s cool,”_ and _“ah, I like this one,”_ but because he has expensive tastes, they’re always the pricier models.

Suga, who’s tending to the shop today, watches them from the counter in mild interest. He’s refilling all their condiments, a brainless enough task that allows him to observe their interactions – not in a creepy way, just in wonderment at how differently they show their affection for each other but it seems as natural as cherry blossoms blooming in spring anyway.

Oikawa seems to find a particularly eye-catching model, sitting up to point at Iwaizumi’s laptop screen. It marks the screen with a distinct fingerprint, earning him a glare from Iwaizumi, who picks up his napkin to wipe the offending blot away. As far as he’s concerned, this is still a new laptop. Oikawa grins at him, clearly not remorseful, and munches away on his salmon. The Hosei student can be a surprisingly messy eater, Suga thinks, and he smiles in amusement when Iwaizumi uses the same napkin to clean the teriyaki sauce off his lips.

The gesture is hardly gentle, forcing Oikawa’s head back with the strength of it, but the café employee merely purses his lips in a sheepish smile. He carries on about something Suga can’t catch, and Iwaizumi answers his animated chattering in his usual subdued manner.

Hinata appears at Suga’s side then, depositing a bag of coffee beans to refill the machines. He looks up at his boss, noticing the wistful expression on his features and follows his line of sight. It’s just Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san having their lunch break together – nothing out of the ordinary.

“Something interesting Suga-san?” Hinata wonders, tearing open the bag of beans.

“Oh Hinata, to be young and in love,” he says with a sigh, sealing the packet of marshmallows for the next refill. He wants his own version of an epic love story too dammit!

The high-schooler doesn’t really get it. Suga-san is young too, maybe not in love now, but he sounds like his time for a romantic love story is over, which is scarcely the case. Hinata tilts his head at him, adorably clueless.

Suga notices it in his peripheral vision but instead of properly answering him (because it’s probably futile to explain something so abstract to Hinata), drops his shoulders in a dramatic exhale, regarding the sickeningly sweet couple with a hint of longing.

“I want what they have.”

Hinata furrows his eyebrows, darts his eyes to Oikawa and Iwaizumi and back to Suga.

“A java chip frappuccino?”

“Hinata please—”

* * *

“I don’t think we can do this today,” Oikawa pouts, pulling away from the telescope to turn to Iwaizumi woefully. “It’s too cloudy.”

They’re camping on the astronomy school’s rooftop, Oikawa having borrowed the department’s Celestron telescope to do a bit of research or so he claimed to the professor. He hasn’t even started the new academic year yet, it still being in the middle of March, but Oikawa the eager beaver had begun to familiarize himself with the course materials and faculty compounds, commenting that a head-start never hurt anyone.

Apparently his motivation must have impressed the professor enough to permit him to borrow the telescope for a while and only if he used it on campus. Excited with the prospect of star-gazing with a legit telescope, Oikawa had pulled Iwaizumi along on their little excursion to the rooftop, but it seems like the sky was not on their side.

“Should we come back again then?” Iwaizumi suggests, back leaning against the peeling wall. He was all ready to relax underneath the stars and let Oikawa fiddle with the telescope and be his uninhibited dorky space-loving self but he supposes it defeats the purpose if there aren’t any stars to watch. 

Oikawa raises a brow at him. “You want to come back?”

He hadn’t expect Iwaizumi to risk another wasted trip.

“Why not?” he says back easily, but gives Oikawa a gentle exasperated look. “But maybe check the forecast next time?”

“I did check!” he argues with a blush. “It’s supposed to be clear but I guess the winds aren’t cooperating.”

The Astronomy student settles against the wall with a disappointed huff, shoulder bumping against Iwaizumi’s. He’s not that much of an amateur to lug a whole telescope to the rooftop with the sole purpose of catching the stars without consulting the forecast first. So that had been a lie.

Iwaizumi knows how much he had been anticipating this, and the dissatisfaction on his face is plain as day, so he proposes, “Why don’t we stay a bit, see if it clears.”

“Okay Iwa-chan,” Oikawa answers gratefully.

Despite the cloudy sky, the view is not all bad. The night blankets them in much-welcomed tranquillity, a quiet invitation to leave the day’s worries behind and be swathed in soothing shadows. They’re high enough and far enough to be spared from the city’s bustling sounds, from the hubbub of traffic and chatters from crowded izakayas. Even the lights know better than to bother them, peppering the cityscape below in round glows, its light not quite reaching their height.

In the dark corner of the roof, Oikawa plays with Iwaizumi’s fingers, splaying them open on his thigh—palm up—threading long, slender digits through rougher, more calloused ones. The gesture keeps Iwaizumi’s fingers relaxed, bending pliantly under Oikawa’s ministrations. The skin tingles when he traces the lines of his palm absentmindedly, and the sheer tenderness makes Iwaizumi flip their hands over, lacing his fingers with Oikawa’s and rubbing small circles across the base of his thumb.

Iwaizumi looks up, hopeful for a small clearing, but the cloud-filled sky stares down at him obstinately, like a wilful child withholding the stars in its hands.

Drawing in his legs to sit cross-legged, he breaks their comfortable silence to ask, “Hey, you don’t actually want to be an astronaut right?”

“Oh no Iwa-chan, that takes years of training,” Oikawa answers smoothly, shaking his head. “It’s a childhood dream, and now I’m just aiming for a career in space exploration right here on earth.”

“Okay good,” Iwaizumi says in relief, shifting in his spot to fully face Oikawa. He props one leg up, knee bent so that he can rest an elbow on it. “As much as I want you to live your dreams, I kinda hope it doesn’t involve you floating in space.”

Oikawa also pushes himself off the wall to meet Iwaizumi’s endearingly awkward gaze, scooting closer until a knee touches his.

“I would never leave you pining after me under the sky while I’m frolicking around with the stars,” he jokes, earning himself an unimpressed stare from his partner.

“Ha-ha.”

A smile forms on Oikawa’s lips, its fondness reflecting in hazel eyes.

“Were you worried that I would?” he asks curiously, peering at Iwaizumi as he looks away to try and come up with an answer that could encapsulate the paradox of emotions he feels when he considers that idea. Oikawa can guess as much, because the little twist of his mouth is rather telling, and he carries on before Iwaizumi frets himself into a headache.

“You opened up world Iwa-chan…and you gave me so much courage,” he tells him honestly, voice soft for the gentle night. He tilts his head at Iwaizumi to tell him with endless affection held in his eyes, “I could never be too far from you.”

Iwaizumi thinks that they’re not really talking about space-travelling anymore.

“You need to give yourself more credit,” he reminds lightly.

“I know,” Oikawa assures. “But I wouldn’t have come this far if it wasn’t for you too.”

Iwaizumi Hajime is a lot of things to Oikawa Tooru – a friend, a lover, a pillar, an anchor. He’s an encouraging hand on his back, a chiding voice to his foolishness, an unwavering presence in times of elation and affliction. And if frivolous, overthinking Oikawa needed someone to balance him out, then it was Iwaizumi who can be the unshakeable ground beneath his feet, who can make up for where he lacks, who can stand by him to pull him from his insecurities and push him to greater heights.

But they leave the specifics for another night.

“You wouldn’t have come this far if some random guy didn’t coerce me into taking you off his porch,” Iwaizumi teases, forcing a memory of their less-than-tasteful beginnings.

“I wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t ask you to partner up with me on that assignment,” Oikawa returns cleverly. They always forget this part; if Oikawa hadn’t chased the impulse to make that suggestion, their story wouldn’t have lasted this long. He smirks, “Funny how we met.”

“Funny how I fell for you,” Iwaizumi mimics, the air around them devolving into something playful. “With your awful personality and preppy look.”

“Funny how _I_ fell for you,” Oikawa is quick to retort, but doesn’t quite follow through with a witty comeback. “With your uncouth manners and—and your stupid hair.”

They recognize his sorry attempt to be slick and dissolve into laughter, punctuating the night with careless breaths. When their mirth fades into warm gazes and faint smiles, Oikawa reaches a hand up to play with that stupid hair of his, carding fingers through its shortness lovingly.

Iwaizumi seems to take a liking to the act, closing his eyes to savour the shiver down his nape when Oikawa scrapes nails across his scalp. He tilts his head into his palm, hums quietly to show his appreciation. Oikawa takes in the look of contentment on Iwa-chan’s handsome face, and oh how it squeezes the spaces in his heart.

Perhaps they won’t get to see the stars tonight, but Oikawa thinks he’s been treated to a far better sight.

“You are so dear to me Hajime,” he whispers, trailing fingers down to hold his face with adoration—touch as light as a feather, as gentle as a baby’s breath.

Iwaizumi opens dark green eyes to regard Oikawa lazily, “The stars got you feeling pensive?”

“You know what they say,” he shrugs. “Something about the night that makes everything feels larger than life.”

He lowers his hand from the other boy’s face, but Iwaizumi catches it, bringing his lips to Oikawa’s knuckles to press a kiss there. He kind of agrees with that sentiment, but he would accord the magnitude of his feelings with the weight it deserves, tonight or otherwise.

“I love you Tooru.”

Oikawa’s heart sings.

“I love you too.”

No matter how many times they kiss, Oikawa will always relish in the perfect fit of their lips, will always crave the warmth that spreads to the tips of his ears and seeps into his veins and Iwaizumi…oh how Iwaizumi burns with passion, profound and perennial.

They kiss so very tenderly, lips moving in tandem, tasting everything their lover has to offer. The touch of their hands is still warm, still fond. Iwaizumi slips his tongue between Oikawa’s lips, feels the pleasure coil in his gut, then feels it unravel in a breathy exhale when they pull away, ensconced in the solace of a cloudy night, in a world of their own.

“By the way, we haven’t actually seen any stars yet,” Oikawa murmurs into the barest of space between them, heady with happiness and always a tease.

It makes Iwaizumi glance up behind Oikawa, and his mouth stretches into a knowing smile.

“You wanna check the telescope again?” he asks, pointing his chin at the night sky.

Oikawa hurries to turn, holding his breath, and gasps in delight when they both take in the same sight. The Northward sky has cleared—as if the clouds had been moved by their persistence, perhaps stirred by the sight of two boys faultless and true—and grants them a view of a canvas speckled with faint stars, few and far between but glimmering unquestionably.

Overcome with excitement, Oikawa scrambles to position the telescope towards the clearing and peers through the eyepiece. His anticipation is almost palpable as he adjusts the focusing knob, and Iwaizumi can only watch in endearment.

“Oh my god Iwa-chan, I see them!!” he exclaims, straightening his back suddenly to swivel the tube of the telescope towards him. “Take a look.”

He does, and he can understand a little better why Oikawa loves the galaxy so much. The glowing lights, so stark and grand against the blackness of March’s sky, are nothing short of breath-taking, allowing him a glimpse back in time.

“They’re amazing,” he admits, facing his partner again.

Oikawa’s eyes are suddenly too bright against the shadows.

“Aren’t they?!” he breathes out, exhilaration written in the wrinkled corners of his eyes and hanging on the curl of his lips.

He bends over the telescope again, marvelling at the stars, lightyears away but so close just for tonight. While he offers the magnificent phenomena his undivided attention, Iwaizumi thinks there’s scarcely a reason for him to be so awed, when he blazes like a star himself.

All things considered, perhaps it’s not so unlikely that Tooru and Hajime, with personalities so different, find themselves on the roof on an idyllic night, enjoying the things they love. At their very core, they’re made of the same things, love and fearlessness etched into their souls, carving a space where they both belong.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have acute iwaoi tunnel vision, I never manage to feature other ships in my stories enough even though I want to. Ahhh, I wanted to include more KageHina and add DaiSuga but my brain’s too obsessed with iwaoi.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading my fic! I know it's long, so I'm grateful to you who stuck around. This is the last official chapter of the story but there’s an epilogue too. I didn’t want to put it in the same chapter because I wanted to end the official story like this :)


	15. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a final omake.

**Four years later**

Oikawa watches the paper lantern that’s almost as tall as him ascend to the late afternoon sky, carrying their wishes and hopes written in black ink against the thin white material. It joins the dozens of other lanterns dotting the sky, set by tourists who want a hand at experiencing the trademark activity at Taipei’s Shifen Old Street.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa are no exception, and after hopping off the train and strolling past the row of similar-looking shops peppering the train tracks, the latter had purchased a white lantern which was meant to be for a good future and brightness. They had written their wishes onto the four sides of the lantern, hoping for Oikawa’s new job at JAXA to be a fulfilling one, for Iwaizumi to experience success at his job in an IT firm, for health, happiness and everlasting love.

Their lantern floats higher and further away, and Oikawa finally looks down to offer the stranger he had asked to help them take a video with a grateful smile. He collects his phone with a little bow and says ‘thank you’ to the kind young lady, who turned out to have a knack for taking Insta-worthy videos with accurate panning and flattering angles. He didn’t ask strangers to take photos or videos for them very often, although when he does, he makes sure to select someone who’d look like they could take attractive photos. Iwaizumi wonders how he can tell, but Oikawa has an eye for these things.

“We look good in this,” Oikawa tells him gleefully, showing him the short video where they’re both standing in the middle of the train tracks, holding on to the bottom ring of the lantern—fire already lighted—then lifting it up into the heavens.

“Yeah, well, post it later,” Iwaizumi says, leading them away from the tracks and towards the shops before Oikawa spends too much time editing the video to make it Insta-ready. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get souvenirs here?”

He’s taken his own photos on this trip, but he’s not as into social media as Oikawa is, simply taking pictures for the memories and not bothering if they’re aesthetically pleasing or not. He has to anyway, because this is his first overseas holiday with Oikawa after they’ve both graduated, and he’d definitely want to be able to look back at every single moment of this, sentimentality be damned.

They explore the rows of colourful shops selling street food, lantern keychains, folding fans, postcards and other knick-knacks, Oikawa pulling Iwaizumi into the stores with excitement that could rival a child’s and Iwaizumi following in step with an endeared smile.

They had chosen to visit Taiwan for its closeness, and because the flight tickets were on sale. Besides, they’ve heard that Taiwan is an ideal travel destination for its range of delectable food and endless list of shopping and activities, so it wasn’t really hard to decide on a place to go.

With Oikawa changing majors, he graduated a year later, and Iwaizumi had been at his job for a year already which meant he waited a year so that they could travel together – a graduation trip of sorts before Oikawa starts his employment at JAXA next month. All the better, since the extra money saved meant they could splurge a little on a nicer hotel, something Oikawa seemed to prioritize.

In the four years after they met, they’ve truly been through countless of highs and lows, smiled together and cried together, whispering ‘thank you’s and ‘sorry’s, but ultimately standing by each other no matter what life threw at them. And life offered them these:

  * Iwaizumi’s Honda had finally taken its last breath, and even though he hasn’t saved enough to buy the much-coveted Kawasaki, he reckons it’s within reach (maybe in the next few months).
  * Oikawa’s grades are consistently one of the highest among his peers and he’s snagged a job at JAXA months before he graduated, after surpassing many other hopefuls in a gruelling selection process (he gloats about making Ushiwaka-chan eat his words).
  * They (mostly Oikawa) successfully hooked Iwaizumi’s co-worker, Sawamura, with Sugawara and they’ve been dating for two years and counting.
  * Oikawa quit his job at the café but still maintains close contact with Suga and Shouyou-kun (who seems to have something going on with Tobio-chan; seriously, what are they waiting for? – he’ll have to pry for more information on this).
  * Oikawa tries reaching out to his mother again, because time is medicine and time is change, but his attempts bear little fruit. He doesn’t lose hope though, believing that one day she’ll come around, so he keeps trying.
  * They all move out of their beloved apartment when Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa graduated, with Iwaizumi and Oikawa renting a new place just for the two of them. They take turns to host new year’s get-together, among other regular catch-ups.



And now they’re travelling overseas together for the very first time, sharing new experiences and excited for the many more to come.

“What about this?” Oikawa asks as he holds up a dark red ocarina whistle to Iwaizumi. “You think Takeru will like it?”

“I guess,” he says, stepping away from the row of postcards to join Oikawa across the shop. Takeru has grown close to Oikawa over the years, who visits regularly and babysits him so that his sister can have date-nights with her husband more often. He loves his uncle, but he’s a candid boy who hardly minces his words, and Iwaizumi has built a camaraderie with him over that. “I don’t think Seina would appreciate it though. I can imagine him playing with that and annoying her to no end. You might be better off buying him local snacks or something.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Oikawa agrees after some consideration, putting the whistle back on its shelf. At least with snacks, he knows he won’t receive disapproving glares from his sister because she can always keep an eye on how much Takeru eats. Still, he’ll probably get him something else, a secret gift from his favourite uncle.

They fill their stomachs with delicacies from the myriad of food stalls, not exactly a proper meal but enough to stave off their hunger until they visit the night market back in the city later. Iwaizumi has in his hands a half-eaten peanut ice-cream roll, a sweet treat sprinkled with peanut candy shavings that melts in his mouth and coats his tongue with creamy and crunchy goodness.

“Ungh, this is so good,” Iwaizumi groans, licking up a line of ice-cream that dribbles down the roll, almost dirtying his fingers.

Oikawa, who had been sharing the treat with him until Iwaizumi hogged it all for himself, watches with vague interest. He’ll agree that it’s not bad, but he won’t go to the extent of enjoying it like Iwaizumi, who isn’t even into sweet food in the first place.

“Okay, you don’t have to look like you’re about to come though,” Oikawa points out casually.

It earns him a glare from his partner. “I do not.”

“Want me to take a picture?” he taunts, prepared to whip out his phone at any moment.

Iwaizumi chooses to ignore the question, turning back to take a generous bite out of his snack. “I’m not sharing this with you if you don’t know how to appreciate it,” he retorts, not too fond of Oikawa’s crass remark but the deprivation doesn’t seem to bother him the least bit.

“That’s okay, I’m perfect here,” he grins, frankly enjoying the sight of Iwa-chan more than the taste of the ice-cream roll. Iwaizumi finishes the treat under the next minute because he doesn’t want to give Oikawa the pleasure of teasing him again, cleaning off his fingers with a few satisfying licks. But Oikawa is apparently in a mood today.

“Iwa-chan, let’s have sex when we go back to the hotel,” he says with a straight face, completely out of the blue.

“We’re in public!” Iwaizumi balks, eyes darting around to check if anyone had heard that brazen comment, but fortunately, it doesn’t appear as that anyone has.

Shrugging, Oikawa replies coolly, “So? It’s not like they understand what we’re saying.”

“I’m pretty sure they at least know the word ‘sex’,” Iwaizumi tells him flatly. Even if he’s not troubled by Oikawa’s lack of filter in a crowded place, his lover’s ignorance concerns him. “And you’d be surprised how many Taiwanese people understand the Japanese language.”

“Then…” Oikawa trails off, searching for euphemisms but it’s a hit-and-miss. “Let’s fuck? Make love?”

Sighing in resignation, Iwaizumi refrains from dragging a hand down his face but he does roll his eyes before throwing Oikawa a pointed look. “…Can you at least keep it in your pants until the end of the day?” he asks dryly. Just because he’s got more public decency doesn’t mean he’s not as eager as his boyfriend. And he’s never one to neglect Oikawa’s wishes.

“I did say when we go back to the hotel Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reiterates impishly, hiding a snicker behind a curled fist. “Oh my, did you want to do it here, in like a public restroom or something? How scandalous!”

“I swear to god Tooru,” Iwaizumi grits out, this close to just leaving him in the crowd.

He doesn’t obviously, mostly because Oikawa latches onto his arm ever since they traversed the suspension bridge to explore the other side of the old town. It’s quieter here, with fewer shops to attract the throngs of tourists, but Iwaizumi read that you’ll have to cross the bridge to reach the waterfall.

They’re holding hands instead when Oikawa decides he wants to lace his fingers with Iwaizumi’s instead of wrapping them around sinewy arms, and they’re bickering by the time they’re halfway there, Iwaizumi refusing to return to the beef noodle restaurant yesterday when there are dozens of other choices but Oikawa insists that it’s the literal best.

Their banter is still going strong until a voice calls out to them, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi only turn to look because it had been in Japanese.

“Young men!” a middle-aged lady greets with a beaming smile that lights up her small frame. Her Japanese is broken, but they’re impressed nonetheless. “Are you interested in some palm reading? Very accurate!”

Ah, they realize at the same time that she’s trying to entice them into a fortune-telling session. But they’ve never been the kind to put much faith in such practices. They can only wonder what she saw in them to make her believe there was something mystical about them that’s worth expounding on. Or maybe she’s merely out here trying to hook in a few customers for a quiet day, and caught the chance to tempt two Japanese boys, thinking they’d be grateful for some familiarity.

“No thank you,” Oikawa says politely with an amicable smile, but the lady isn’t easily deterred.

“My palm reading’s different!” she asserts, beckoning them to step into her shop, where a little table was tucked in a corner, with posters and hand-drawn diagrams decorating the walls, some of them already peeling at the edges. A glint shines in her eyes as she tells them with an air of mystery—polished from years of being in this trade—“Comes from the stars. The stars are never wrong.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi look at each other out of the corner of their eyes, slightly amused. It barely shows in their gazes and tiniest curl of their lips.

“And they have message for me. They say you two…very close and oh—” the lady with rather commendable Japanese says cryptically. She studies them carefully, narrowing her eyes at Iwaizumi then Oikawa as if deciphering something, and speaks with deliberate ambiguity. “Have interesting destiny together. Curious?”

They lock eyes with each other and don’t resist the mirroring grins that stretch across their faces.

“We’re good,” they both say at the same time.

Because they know what the stars say—and they tell them that they’re formed at the meeting of clouds of gas and dust, that their brightness is a variable of luminosity and distance, that they create constellations that help travellers navigate the oceans—and they don’t need the stars to tell them that the bond they share is something so profound, that as long as they’re side by side, they’re right where they need to be.

_**—end.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I’m so happy to finally finish this. This is hands-down the longest iwaoi fic I’ve ever written and probably the longest I will ever write. I literally depleted my brain juice to keep this fic going.
> 
> To everyone who gave kudos and comments and talked to me on twitter, thank you! I read everyone of them with so much love and a smile on my face. To those who waited till the story is completed, I'd love to hear what you think! I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I had fun talking to myself and arguing with myself about iwaoi ideas.
> 
> (And yes, I purposely started this fic on Iwa’s birthday and finished it on Oikawa’s birthday! And no, I am not from Taiwan lol.)
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/project_ecto) where I rant about iwaoi and post shorter writings/ideas about them! I’d love to talk to people who love iwaoi too.


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